Halo: Too
by WhereIsTheCuprite
Summary: Earth is apparently REALLY different, thanks to...intergalactic racism! Nerdy aliens! Unexpected alliances! And the Sangheili version of a kilt!
1. Chapter 1: War and Piece of Pizza

**HALO TOO**

*Halo, characters not made up by the author, and most of the things that include the words "Halo", "Bungie", and "Master Chief" are registered trademarks or trademarks of the Microsoft Corporation and Bungie Studios. Personalities and aesthetics of characters you've never heard of, don't care about, or wouldn't imagine are property of 1000Bolsheviks. On a side note, it would help to read or at least skim through the first story just so you know the ropes The "Wife-Beating Marine" is dedicated to one of her dear friends. Enjoy.*

*This story is rated as such for brief drug content, suggestive content, strong language, musical references, weird dances, Juliophobia (or fear of Julia Child), excessive blasphemy, Venetian punishment, and over-priced pizza.*

"……What is a Sangheili? What does he do? Where does he work? A closer look at these noble soldiers will tell you all about them. The Sangheili are a proud, warrior race. They were absorbed into the Covenant long after the Jiralhanae and all the others races that make up the most feared armed force in the entire galaxy. Although they may _appear_ to be loyal, courageous fighters on the outside, careful cross-examination proves otherwise. Behind their stringy muscles and disgusting four jaws lie three twisted hearts and souls blackened by their greed and outlandish, animalistic obsession with sexual intercourse.

"Sangheili are tall, merciless creatures. They have eyes that glow red to warn you of their bloodlust or shine black because they have no soul. They have four hinged jaws that make it easier for them to tear apart any soldier that gets in their way.

"The Sangheili view every race underneath their echelon as vermin. They believe they are the strongest, fastest, and most important race in the universe. They care not for their brothers and sisters of the Covenant. They abuse soldiers under their command and force them to submit in every way possible. Sangs love to believe they are the most supreme, perhaps even more holy than our glorious Prophets themselves!

"The Sangheili have one true love……money. They will do anything to reap in wealth, including swindling and robbing the other races in the Covenant. Do not trust any Sangheili shopkeeper or business worker.

"The Sangheili find entertainment in torturing not only their fellow soldiers, but helpless animals as well. Sangheili children are taught to maim birds and the tiny creatures that are forced to share their dirty home planet. Nothing excites a Sang more than the feeling of slick blood on his claws.

"In truth, the Sangheili do not care about the welfare of the Covenant or the promise of the Great Journey. The Sang only cares about the advancement of his own race and how satisfied and wealthy he is.

"The Sang is a highly sexualised creature. Along with their infatuation with wealth, the Sangheili employ many different malicious and grotesque ways to satisfy their needs. Much of the Sang's time is spent in bed. They have even been known to take on several partners at once. They attack Unggoy during lulls in fighting, assault Kig-Yar maidens when left alone, and prowl streets under cover of night in order to score virgins of races they view as "lower".

"Now you know all about the Sangheili. They are a vile, despicable race and deserve only the longest, most painful punishment. Those races that rally against the Sangheili are heroes. They will be honoured and delivered by the most holy Forerunners. Those who defend them deserve the same fate of their horrid, cold-blooded friends. Protect your own race before they come after _you_!"

Tartarus, Cheiftain of the Brutes, tapped a button on the panel in front of him. Freezing the video in front of him, he reviewed all of the information he and his team had gathered. He was well pleased with the results. He chuckled to himself villainously.

"Excellent. We shall be rid of those lying, heathenish Sangheili in due time……" he laughed, removing the chip from the panel. He tucked it gently into his utility belt, making absolute sure it would be protected from the outside elements and hidden from view. The Prophets were not to know of this until a later time. Tartarus hefted up his family's ancestral weapon, the Fist of Rukt, and exited his quarters.

**Chapter I: War and Piece of Pizza**

**D+ 01:04:36 (Mission [To Provide Excellent Service] Clock) November 1, 2552/**

**Somewhere in Space**

**Benito's Pizza Delivery Ship No. 28**

Space. The vacuum. The silent, freezing, ceaseless vacuum. The mother of all vacuums. Where anything goes and nobody can hear you scream. Likewise, nobody could hear the loud, garage-metal band goodness that Benito's Pizza delivery boy Brettt McCarthy blared inside his miniscule delivery starship. Yes, they even make interstellar trips in the future.

He sat at the controls, banging his head until his Italian-flag-coloured ball cap nearly fell off. He was a pitiful lad. Brettt looked like any other adolescent boy. Scrawny, with greasy, medium length hair that always looked unkempt, and vaguely simian features. The ability to wear the same "Millions of Dead Grannies" shirt repeatedly underneath his uniform completed his vile teenage ensemble. He was just finishing a riveting "air" guitar riff, when he sneaked a look out of the view-port window and up at a massive convoy of alien-looking cruisers. Brettt freed his throat grotesquely of a huge wad of phlegm and looked at a small panel to his right. He was nearly on top of the blinking blue LED indicating where to make his stop.

"Uh……Prophets of Truth, Mercy, and Regret," he said to himself as he strained to look out the window and through the fleet of ships.

"The time hast cometh for me to taketh _mine_ turn again."

"No it is not! You are cheating again!"

"Absurd! _Never_ have I cheated in mine entire divine existence."

"You have already got the whole of Asia; you might as well just take Russia and Germany too!"

"_I _have the Ukraine."

"The Ukraine is _weak_."

Both the High Prophets of Truth and Mercy argued over a game of RISK they had been at for roughly four days. Regret's holo was hovering neglected near the board as an honour guard sat in his place and moved for him. Frankly, he was glad to not be present at the time and very satisfied with having captured the Ukraine. They were parked in their Inner Sanctum flanked by other bored, half-asleep, or really asleep Sangheili honour guards.

"Mine ears weep blood upon hearing the filth that flows freely from thy loose lips. I am the _Prophet of Truth_. It is with great humility and honour that I fulfill mine divine purpose as the bringer of such correctitudes."

"Or the fact similarly thereof," Regret said in a hushed tone, hoping that his elder hadn't heard.

"You dare challenge the faith and honour of thine elder? Doth mine ears deceive me?" he flared, turning on the hologram of the younger Prophet.

"I said……o'er the lack of similes above," he corrected.

Truth gave him a cross look. Mercy snatched the dice.

"Look, _I _am rolling now whether either of you like it or not."

"When is the pizza going to get here?" Regret demanded, looking at the military calendar that was shining on a wall.

"To partake in the consummation of inglourious substances such as that will surely help you secure a place with those who have so sinned before thee," Truth answered. "I question the decision as to end our noble crusade against the very vermin who deliver unto thee such substances."

"Because the Covenant Imperial Marching Band gave an excellent performance," Mercy said disdainfully.

"Music is bane of all that is righteous and good. Ye too will secure the same fate if ye continue with such inverted drabble," Truth said.

"You obviously lack any sort of musical taste, _junior_," Mercy said, shaking his head.

Truth was about to chew him out again, when they were approached by one of their honour guard captains. He strode in at a hastened pace and quickly dropped to one knee on arrival to the squad of hierarchs.

"Holy ones, the bringer of sustenance cometh!" he said dramatically.

"Very well, leadeth the meat sack ineth."

The gawky teen entered, corralled by a team of honour guards. His posture was poor and there was more acne about his face than fear or respect.

"I got yer 'za', Prophet dudes," he drawled, holding out the box.

"Well, it wouldst appear that—"

"—Could it have taken you _any longer_?" Mercy blurted out, interrupting Truth's seemingly less aggressive answer.

"Whoa, chill out Prophet dudes! I'm traveling a gajillion miles, it's gonna be a while! We told you forty five to an hour!" Brettt replied.

"Hath thee _any idea_ who thou speakeths to?" Truth questioned.

"Yeah, some Covenant Prophet dudes, now do ya want this 'er not?"

"Heed my words……Brettt, Earthly Plaguewielder—" Truth said, peering at his nametag.

"—Why does it have three 'T's? It looks ridiculous," Mercy stated.

"It looks redonkulous," Regret added.

"It looks redunkulous," the honour guard who was playing for Regret chimed in. Regret pointed at him and nodded.

"Cuz of the 'REBELution', dude," was the answer. "Normally it would have two, but since the 'REBELution, it's got three."

"If it were not for the tears I weep and the benedictions I murmur, I fear this generation of youth would have been weeded out by the Forerunners long ago," Truth grunted.

"If you teenagers are not listening to loud, outrageous music, you are dying your hair, dropping out of school, and _not _treating your acne," Mercy said. "What is the damage, meat sack?"

"Filth! I shant bestow upon him a single coin!" Truth snapped.

"Thirteen eighty four," Brettt said.

"If we refuse then he will never go away," Regret said, as the honour guard tossed the lad some semi-transparent coins.

"……This isn't money," Brettt said after turning them over in his hand once or twice.

"Yes it is."

"I need dah-lers," the pizza boy groaned.

"Well, you were coming to a Covenant city; you _should _have known that the currency would be different," Regret sniffed.

"My boss is gonna kill me, _again_," Brettt said.

"This idle youth shant dwell in the House of the Prophets another moment. Remove the cancer from our realm!" Truth said, pointing violently towards the door. The honour guards seised the teen and dragged him out.

"You'll see! When the fuckin' oceans part and the fuckin' seeds of chaos bloom into flowers of change, the fuckin' REBELution will come and you'll wish your mother never bore you!" he hollered to the Prophets from down the corridor.

"Filth! Slander! Blasphemy! It is _you_ who shalt be drowned in the cleansing flame of the Holy Relic! May the instrument of the gods sear your soul and damn you to the farthest, coldest regions of the netherworld!" Truth declared viciously.

"Whatever, let us eat now," Mercy suggested.

"Fuck the Prophets!" they heard the lad's voice echo from down the hallway.

"Blood! The gods demand blood! Who am I to keep them from their feast of the unworthy? With grace and eternal clarity, I command the warriors of the most High and Exalted to continue on our glorious crusade in the name of the Forerunners!" Truth proclaimed.

"_You_ cannot do that! You need the majority of the two houses to agree!" Mercy said.

"You _really_ need to take it easy, Exalted," Regret added carefully.

"_We_ are in a lot of trouble. I hope this doesn't go on my military record. I'd hate to have to add destroying an entire armada to the already humungous list of things I've done wrong on duty."

"I still think team-killing is light in the way of sacrilege and human sympathy."

"Maybe you're right. Those _are_ pretty big Covenant no-nos."

Riley 'Bodensee, slacker Sangheili extraordinaire, discussed his tarnished military record with one of the other Elites in the dropship he and his entourage of kin had stolen to escape the detonation of the ringworld, Halo. Aboard the ship with him were the Elites Zuka 'Zamamee, Marshall "Canundrum" 'Nordsee, and Juliano 'Lassamee, as well as the Jackal Hanjk, the Hunter James Robinson Gurru, and the Grunt Peter.

Riley removed his thick-framed, goggle-like spectacles and wiped the lavender-tinted lenses off.

"So, now where ah we goin'?" Hanjk inquired.

"I think our best bet would be to go to High Charity, at least it's somewhere familiar," "Canundrum" suggested.

"Oh sure, and get tried for the destruction of Halo, _my_ failed mission, and Riley's neurotic tendencies?" 'Zamamee said, holding an arm out in a gesture to Riley. "No offense."

"I just don't know when to quit," Riley shrugged with another laugh.

"Well, we wouldn'thave to do _any_ of this if _yo_u weren't such a failure," "Canundrum" accused sourly.

"Do you challenge me? Why don't we settle this like _real _Sangheili?" 'Zamamee asked, rearing on the silver-armoured Elite.

"Okay guys, rumbles are forbidden on this ship! Remember what happened to those Puerto Rican kids in that movie?" Riley ordered.

"Yeah! I don' wanna see no hatin'," James said.

"That was a double negative, so you _want_ to see us fight," "Canundrum" corrected.

"If you weren't no Sangheili……"

"Why don't we axe Juliano's opinion? He _is_ driving, after all," Riley suggested.

"That guy doesn't even know what _day_ it is," 'Zamamee said, shielding his eyes and shaking his head.

"Zuka, _be nice_," Riley said in the "threatening mother" tone. He chose a seat next to the pilot and tapped him on the shoulder. "Juliano?"

He immediately snapped around to where Riley was seated, almost knocking him out of his chair. "Yes, Mr. President……?!" he asked, standing up and saluting, holding his arm up and his palm outward. It's different from the fascist salute. For more information, consult the "Floodmacht Training Video".

"Juli! It's me!"

"Oh……right……'m sorry, Riley……" he said as he helped Riley up and ended his sentence with his trademark noise-that-sounded-like-a-door-that-needed-its-hinges-oiled.

"It's all right. Now, where do _you_ think is the best place to go from here?"

"Uh……"

Everyone waited in anticipation for the answer, but all they received was the same fermata "uh". Riley snapped his fingers in front of his face a few times.

"……Uh, yeah……we should go to High Charity……" Juliano finally said.

"My family's still back there! I get to see them! You win 'Canundrum'," Riley said with more excitement than desired.

"That's where I used to live too," "Canundrum" said.

"_My_ clan is still in our keep in 'Zamam Valley," 'Zamamee said.

"_The _'Zamam Valley? Bourgsy," commented 'Bodensee.

"Naturally," "Canundrum" said.

"Yes. _You _probably crawled around the slums looking for a suitable _box_," 'Zamamee sneered to "Canundrum" quietly, as not to let Riley hear.

"Well it makes sense. You have an 'am' in your name. Hey, do you have a yacht?" Riley inquired. The "am" at the end of Sangheili clan names was a trait of the aristocracy, similar to "von" in German.

"Pardon?"

"A yacht. I thought all rich people had yachts. Isn't it like, the thing to have _when_ you have?"

"I suppose it is. But _I_ don't have one, personally. My uncles might."

"……Will you take me on it?"

"I promise if we make it out of this war, I'll let you join me on the yacht."

"Thank you."

"_Bourgeoisie_," "Canundrum" spat to himself.

"Yo Hanjk, you still got that deck of cards we were using in the cell?"

"Yep!" he said, pulling them out of his newsies cap and tossing them at Riley.

"Awesomesauce! Name your game, chaps," he grinned mischievously, shuffling them expertly.

"How about 'Anaicrak Arg'?" 'Zamamee suggested a cultural Sangheili card game.

"Sounds good to me. Wanna learn how to play, Jimmy?"

"Papa's winnin' big tonight."

"Uh, guys……?" Juliano said over his shoulder.

"Yes?" Riley answered.

"You might wanna hold off on gettin' comfy……"

"Why's that?"

"I just got a message on the communications gear……the _Rice Cakes and Jesus Shoes_ managed to make it off of Halo before it asploded……I gave them our coordinates and they'll be picking us up shor—" he was about to finish his report, when suddenly, the massive cruiser loomed over their quaint dropship.

"Wow……they're here……"

"Nice timing," Riley said.

Everyone heard static on the comm. system and listened intently.

"_Rice Cakes and Jesus Shoes_ _to Dropship_ _Eicścanyzrt_ _have you an answer?_" a monotone voice came over the radio.

"_This is dropship Eicścanyzrt_ ……" Juliano answered.

"_Enter the ship via docking station two on the portside_,_ hold there for further instructions_."

"_Okey dokey then_……"

With that, the radio clicked off.

"Did anyone miss that……?" Juliano inquired, turning around to face the Covenant aboard the ship.

"Negatory" Riley answered.

"Okey dokey then……"

"Yes! I don't have to add team-killing to my record after all!"

General celebrating ensued after the uplifting message.

With that, Juliano kicked the dropship into a wide turn and swung it through one of two blue energy fields guarding the docking station. Even for his physical and mental state due to years of methamphetamine addiction, Juliano was actually a decent pilot and landed the U-shaped boat neatly in an unoccupied space.

"Uh oh……" Juliano said, taking a quick look outside as he killed the engine.

"What-oh?" Riley demanded, trying to sneak a look as well.

"This doesn't look good……"

Everyone exited the cockpit and found themselves being stared down by the entire body of Sangheili officials aboard the cruiser.

"Well……this is awkward," Riley said, focused on the second level.

"I know for a fact that this is somehow _your_ fault," "Canundrum" whispered to 'Zamamee.

"I _was_ going to donate a can of broth to you, but _that_ remark just cost you your next meal," was 'Zamamee's answer. Among a file of Sangheili on the bottom floor, Shipmaster Orna 'Fulsamee shoved two soldiers in blue-armour out of his way and strode towards the misfit group closely followed by the minor Prophet of Perpetual Silence and his assistant Bako 'Ikaporamee.

"_Hide me_!" Riley whispered harshly as he pushed Juliano out in front of him and peeked over his shoulder.

"Yer violating me……" he said.

The Shipmaster shuddered after hearing the word "violating", but continued toward them. "I see you 'Bodensee. There's no use in hiding," 'Fulsamee said loudly.

"Bad news bears……" he said, gently moving Juliano out of the way.

'Fulsamee strode right up to Riley and glared him down. 'Ikaporamee was, as usual, at his heels. "Remember what we practised, Shipmaster," 'Ikaporamee said soothingly.

"Uh……hi, Shipmaster 'Fulsamee……how was your trip here? Was it sa—"

"—Enough." 'Fulsamee said sharply, causing a piercing echo. "……I suppose you're wondering why all of the ship's personnel are present."

"It's like a high school student's worst nightmare."

"Do you have any comprehension of what you have just done?" 'Fulsamee said through gritted fangs, growing increasingly angrier.

Riley gulped. "We were just……_I_ was just—"

"—You hijacked a dropship that was supposed to ferry our troops to stop 'the Daemon' from destroying the sacred ring—"

"—But Excellency, I just—"

"—You caused massive confusion and disarray—"

"—I-I just—"

"—_And_ you put nutmeg in the cookies you made for your little party, which Officer 'Misogynee ate. He's _deathly_ allergic to nutmeg and now he's in critical condition in the sick bay!"

"I didn't know! Why wasn't he wearing one of those t-shirts?!"

"Do you have _any_ idea what sort of issues all of this has caused?!" 'Ikaporamee took over.

Riley and his lower class friends threw themselves on the ground and groveled at their feet while "Canundrum" and 'Zamamee lowered their heads.

'Ikaporamee thought this was a good opportunity to flaunt the perks of his rank. "Your flood of stupidity—"

"—_Flood_?! Where, _where_?! Keep them away!" Orna 'Fulsamee screamed, decking the nearest lower-ranked Elite square in the jaws, knocking him clean out.

"_Wrong_ thing to say," the Elite closest to 'Ikaporamee said.

"Shipmaster! There are no Flood anywhere, it was just a metaphor I used to explain 'Bodensee's mishap, remember what we practised," he tried to comfort the reeling Shipmaster. "Come now," he said with the tone of a special education teacher. The gold-armoured Elite tried to regain his composure.

"……Alright now……if you hadn't stolen that dropship, we'd probably all be dead," 'Ikaporamee stated.

Riley and his friends stopped sobbing and looked up.

"……What?" they all said in unison.

"Yes. Since we were short one dropship, the order to raid the human ship was called off, and we were tipped by 'Lassamee that you knew the sacred ring would be destroyed," the aide said.

"The disorder halted our reinforcements from getting to the human ship and 'Misogynee, who is in charge of our Spirit dropship pilots, was busy choking on his own vomit in the medical wing. We got out, and you're a fraction of a hero," 'Fulsamee finished with an unemotional tone.

"……Are you serious?" Riley said, coming to his feet.

"As a heart attack. _Do not_ get used to the praise, though," 'Ikaporamee spat. The Elites still made no noise, aside from two lonely soldiers in the back somewhere who clapped and yelled various exclamations. Riley's fear-stricken features melted into features of pleasure.

"Cool……" he said through a huge grin. "See? I _told you_ I'd save you one day and then you'd take back all the names you've called me and all the things you said I wouldn't accomplish."

"Whatever. Oh, and, 'Bodensee?" the assistant said, turning to leave but craning his neck around to look at Riley.

"_Yes_," he answered with quiet intensity.

"We are en route to High Charity for further orders from the holy ones."

"Oh, okay. Thank you! Um, Excellency?"

"What?!"

"……That was a nice K.O."

"……Yes, it was pretty nice," he had to agree, eyeing the unconscious sang lying by his feet.

Riley was completely relieved. His battle group made it out safely, his friends were safe, and all he had to do was sit back and listen to Christmas albums before returning home to see the relatives he left behind years ago.

"What now? What are we going to do about Halo, the holy ring?" 'Ikaporamee inquired of the Shipmaster.

"Oh, we're gonna do what high-ranking Sangheili do best……blame someone else……and I know _just_ who to pin it on."

Stanley Gallolawrence had been placidly watching the other Flood refugees for what he guessed was a few hours as he sat aboard the Longsword ship he and his small team of defiant soldiers had pilfered to escape the detonation of their home and the oppression of the totalitarian-fascist Flood society inhabiting it. The tyrannical world had ceased to exist and no more Flood forms would be gripped in its iron fist.

Corporal Eric Fredrickson and Privates Stuart Cooper and Fabian Dunkirk were playing cards. Sergeant Dennis Rourke, Stanley's navigation expert, was checking for any weapons stored in the lockers. They were all part of Stanley's outfit of renegade soldiers who were always making things difficult for the fascist Flood soldiers. One soldier was missing though. Turning his attention over to the pilot's chair, he noticed the only high-ranking officer to escape, Captain TJ Anderson. His medium-length white hair was mussed underneath his officer's cap and the decorations on his ornately embellished Schützstaffel uniform glinted when the light from the panels on the ceiling struck them. He wore round, studious-looking wire frames molested by a spider crack in the right lens and tall combat boots that rose to his knees. The smoke from his cigarette curled and twisted in arcs around his head as he leaned back in the seat, watching his M6D pistol as he turned it around by the trigger over and over again in his hand. He was the guy who normally drilled newly infected soldiers at firearm control practice, marched patrols around the Library, and issued orders to the four hundred directly under his command. He also ranked as Captain of Commander's "Sex Slaves", known collectively to every other Flood as the "Schützstaffeln" or SS, their extravagantly cruel and occasionally horny bodyguard and police force.

"I do not feel compelled to believe that the same god that placed six other male soldiers in the same dropship as I had no intentions for me to not use them," Stanley said calmly, roughly quoting Galileo. "Anderson, you're a horny SS Captain, why don't you come over here and give me the works? I'll even let you pretend I'm Ivan."

Anderson lifted his head quickly.

"Sheesh,like a dog to a can opener. Apparently, you don't know what sarcasm is. Besides, I'd _never_ let anyone pretend I was Ivan," Stanley said, rolling his good eye.

"Please, Private Stanley, don't be cruel like that," Anderson answered. Stanley went over to where Anderson sat. He leaned on the controls comfortably.

"Well, Anderson, I'd hate to be the one that told you so, but—"

"—Haven't I had enough torment for to-day?" Anderson cut him off quickly.

"Hey, like you always used to ask……'baby wanna bottle? A dirt bottle?!'" Stanley said, followed by one of his famous and impeccable impression of the Captain.

Anderson put a hand over his eyes.

"Yep……karma's a _bitch_, ain't it?"

"Well, you don't have to add to my despair. It's what _Hindenburg_ always did when he was around."

"……Big Walter? Ivan's pushin' cushion?"

"I'll never know what compelled him to pick that fat, emotional _bastard _over me."

"Well, I suppose he thought it was better than the skinny bitch who wouldn't get down on his knees," Stanley remarked under his breath.

"—I mean, I did just about _everything_ for him."

"_Really_, now? I have a hard time believe _you_ would let him stick—"

"—Double patrol shifts, going sleepless several nights to get SS paperwork finished……I was the _perfect_ leader."

"—Uh, beggin' tha Captin's pardon but, our outfit's taken a unanimous vote of doin' somethin' about our current 'lost in space' pradicament," one of Stanley's men said.

"Thanks, Dunkirk, but let's cross one bridge before we get to the next," Stanley answered.

"Just……thought I'd esk," Dunkirk concluded, backing off.

Actually feeling considerable pity and sorrow for the SS trooper, not to mention thinking his oblivious nature was adorable, he tried to come up with a five-second solution to allay Anderson's lamenting.

"I know my salute's not quite as strong as our late fearless leader's, but……I'll give you rebound action, if you want. I'm a far better whore than I am a fascist soldier."

Anderson reacted immediately to the other soldier's offer. "You and I both know you don't mean that. I wish you wouldn't—"

"—Don't mean _what_?" an irate Big Pat interrupted, startling the whole ship.

"Uh oh," Stan replied, looking over his shoulder. Big Pat was an ex-Elite, considerably bigger than the crew of ex-humans, and considerably angrier.

"I _thought_ we had a good long talk about this," Pat growled.

"Pat, look, I wasn't doing—"

He grasped Stanley by the back of his tattered, gray-brown Marine uniform and held him out. "Just _what_ wur ya gonna do with _Captain Anderson_, huh? Wur ya gonna make the burdens of war a little less heavy?"

"I wasn't doing _anything._"

"Why do you have to be such a manwhore?!"

"I'd prefer the term 'promiscuous', if you'd be so kind. I_ think_ you'll be delighted to know that he _declined_ politely."

"The burdens of war _are_ rather heavy," Anderson said innocently to Dunkirk, who was the closest in proximity.

"Yeah, I'll _bet_ they are."

Patrick wasn't moved. "……Are you joking me right now?"

Being an expert in handling seemingly out-of-control situations, Anderson stood up. "Why don't you pick on somebody your _own_ size, _Private_?"

"Don't _you_ even start!" Big Pat said, pointing an accusing finger at the Captain. Anderson strode up to Pat, glaring at him over his spectacles.

"Although our leaders are not present, _I_ still uphold _the most_ authority here and you would do well to respect that!"

Big Pat loosened his grip and lowered Stanley to the ground. Despite his size compared to the rest of the soldiers, he had always thought the command staff was truly frightening. Anderson was always giving him trouble for the smallest of things back on the ring.

"Ten-shun!" Anderson hollered. Big Pat immediately stood up straight. The Captain had to stand on his toes in order to get even remotely closer. Covenant Elites normally had two or more feet on the humans.

"_Until we reach a different ring or other body of land governed by another force_,_ you would do well to do exactly as I say_! _You will respect me the same way that you did the Commanders_! _You will not start any other acts of violence or mutiny_,_ but most importantly_,_ you will forgive Private Stanley for offering to help me through my period of loss_! _Do I make myself clear_,_ Private_?!" Anderson screamed at Pat.

"_Crystal_,_ sir_!" Big Pat answered, saluting. "_Sorry I got mad_, _Stanley_!"

"_That_'_s_ what I like to hear."

"_Good_!" Anderson barked. "Anyone _else_ wanna start some trouble?"

The soldiers remained quiet, but sent mocking stares his way.

"Excellent……" Captain Anderson said, hiking his breeches up a bit as he basked in his authority. Stanley was highly impressed and slightly turned on by the sudden outburst. Anderson was loud and radiated ample authority for such a feeble-looking soldier. "Now……where in the hell are we headed?"

"Where were you three minutes ago?" the soldier dealing the cards asked, frustrated.

"Apparently, sufferin' from the burdens a' war," Dunkirk answered, placing his cigarette back in his mouth.

"Easy, boys," Stanley said. "Well, there is _one_ place we could go," he said, taking a look out of the view-port window. "……We could go to Delta Halo."

"Delta Halo? Wull get eaten alive!" Big Pat said.

"Nonsense, Pat. We've lived our whole lives through a _totalitarian_-_fascist_ government where Ivan and Jared held all power over anything and everything. If we disobeyed them, we got shot. I think Delta Halo will be a cakewalk."

"It's not too far from here, if my calculations are correct. It would probably be the only place we'd be welcome, anyway, provided it doesn't have any human or Covenant guests," one of Stanley's soldiers said.

"Denny's got a point," Stan agreed. "It's not easy being the scourge of the universe."

"Wull, as long as yer sure," he said, still a little unsettled by the idea.

"C'mon guys, we really don't have anything more to lose," Stanley said casually.

"I agree with Private Stanley," Anderson said, taking the controls. "Delta Halo it is, then."


	2. Chapter 2: In MY Village

**Chapter II: In **_**My**_** Village……**

**Seventh Cycle, 5 Units (Covemamt Btalte Clamemdar: Officer Riley 'Bodensee)/ That's what it would look like to me if I had Dyslexia.**

Zuka 'Zamamee had been hunting high and low for the last few hours. Refusing to make contact with the lower classes of the Covenant and all the Sangheili under his rank, he had voluntarily made his search much more difficult. Severely contemplating giving up, he arrived at a gravity lift that would take him to a different level of the cruiser. Just as he was about to step in, Riley appeared upside down in its field, startling the Special Operatives Officer.

"Howdy, Sheriff," he greeted, touching the rim of his helmet.

"Is this lift malfunctioning again? Those lousy Huragok are becoming lazier every cycle."

"Hey now! Just because the Huragok are crazy blob,airplane, jellyfish people who don't speak, it doesn't mean they don't have feelings! And no, it's not broken, I'm just playing my favourite cruiser game……get stuck in a grav lift!"

"Get stuck in a grav lift?" 'Zamamee repeated.

"I didn't say 'Simonee says! Ha! Get it?! But seriously folks, all I did was wedge a needler needle in the control panel here and the thing stops dead. Wanna play?" Riley inquired, flipping backwards while still suspended in the field.

"On the contrary, I was wondering if I could have a rather important conversation with you……_alone_," 'Zamamee growled to an eavesdropping Sangheili who turned his head as he passed.

"Zuka, anything you have to say to _me_, you can say in front of the grav lift," Riley answered.

"It's not the grav lift I'm worried about."

Both Elites heard 'Fulsamee's voice over the intercom system.

"The _Rice Cakes and Jesus Shoes_ will be entering the holy city of High Charity momentarily." The same announcement repeated six different times in a different language so all of the races on board could understand.

Riley immediately jumped out of the lift and brushed off his armour. "OhmyProphets! I am _so_ excited to see my clan members! Aren't you glad to see the ones you left behind?"

"I don't have any family in High Charity. They're still on Sangheilios," he said unenthusiastically.

"Oh right, sorry, I forgot. You don't sound very glad. Don't you miss your clan?"

"Well……it's just……I never really got along with them."

"Boy, have _I_ been there! Isn't that _every_ angry adolescent's story? My clan hates me too, even though I made it into the military. But just look at me _now_."

Riley's comment hurt more than it helped, but 'Zamamee didn't say anything.

"Well……how about we hook up later? You should _totally_ come over to my crib! We could have 'group sax' with one of my neighbours. He plays tenor."

"Er—"

"—I gotta run, catch ya later!" he said, flipping out of the lift and quickly touching one of 'Zamamee's gauntlets. With that, he sped off down the corridor, leaving Zuka confused and the needle still jammed into the control panel. His carelessness caused an unsuspecting Sangheili soldier to fall from one level above and injure himself in the process.

"Ow……excruciating pain," he said, reaching for the SpecOps Elite.

"……'Group sax'? Sounds promising," he said as he shrugged his confusion off, completely ignoring the injured soldier lying on the grav pad.

Expecting massive welcome home festivities and throngs of cheering crowds, Riley was severely let down when he found that the only inhabitants of the High Charity docking station were the groups of homeless Covenant that found refuge there. Huddled around their trash can fires, Riley attempted to bid one trio good day.

"Good day, my destitute brethren!" Riley said jovially, holding a hand up in salutation and laughing.

"……The government!" yelled the Sangheili. He was missing more than several teeth and clad in rags and disintegrating armour. Its shield system sparked elaborately every once in a while.

"Um, what about it?" Riley replied.

"Alms for the poor?" an impoverished Jackal inquired, holding out an abused tin can.

"I don't have any money, sorry," Riley answered.

"I hate you," a Grunt said in a completely and totally serious tone.

"You know, the more you hate the more—"

"—I really, really hate you," the angry Unggoy continued.

"Nevermind," Riley gave up, hurrying out of the hanger.

"May the Forerunners bless you," he heard the Sangheili yell.

"Sick, _sick_!" the Grunt shouted after him.

The Sangheili district of High Charity was dismal-looking, just like the rest of the city shielded within the jellyfish-like complex. High Charity was a place where the weak were trampled and eaten. Thick artificial cloud-cover hung grimly over the towers and taller buildings, which gave the effect that rain was in the forecast. Each race of the Covenant was given its own portion of the dome and the Sangheili district was placed at the feet of a Forerunner ship, the power-source for the city and the most holy relic, and wrapped around half of it quite neatly. It was full of towering structures and squared buildings which were not quite skyscrapers and not quite houses. They were all constructed of an alien metal, replicating those of their home world, Sangheilios. The streets and roads were all of a metal-stone hybrid and all of the traffic signs were made of a translucent substance painted with the hieroglyphs of Forerunner language and in a few different dialects of their own language. The languages could be found on every label, poster, or other means of notification. The windows in all of the buildings and houses were of the same substance. Only the upper class and wealthy Sangheili had vehicles, seeing as one could virtually go anywhere they needed by simply walking. The streets were fairly empty, seeing as it was Wednesday, the day the Sangheili culture deemed the day of rest. Many of the Sangheili clans were inside doing just that, all except for a young soldier wearing the red armour of the elite honour guard, bodyguards who accompanied the Prophets everywhere. He was spending the last day of his military furlough purchasing groceries and was making his way to his home.

Riley was just coming over a small hill when he noticed the high-ranking soldier ahead of him. As he took notice of the guard, he also saw that he had dropped a long tube of shocking burgundy paste. All Sangheili food comes in liquid form and is usually served in tubes as such. Wanting to be a Good Samaritan, he hurried down the sidewalk and up behind the guard.

"Excuse me, Excellency, you dropped this," the blue-armoured Elite said as he raised his arm in salute.

"Oh, many thanks," he answered, accepting the tube from the lower-ranking soldier and returning the salute.

"You're very welcome, Excellency," Riley answered with another salute, remembering his culture's strict military reverence. The honour guard secured the tube back in one of the food modules he was carrying and slowly looked back to Riley.

"……By the Prophets, _Riley_? Is that _you_?" he asked, startled.

"It sure is! Sweet Georgia Brown……Clark?"

"Yes! By the Prophets!" Clark said again, disregarding the food modules as the two embraced joyously.

Clark 'Voorlakee was Riley's best (and only) childhood friend. Riley and his direct guardians had relocated to High Charity from their home world to both try and educate Riley about the importance of Sangheili culture and religion and to be closer to the Prophets. He had become Clark's neighbour soon after and they spent many a day frolicking together.

"I didn't recognise you at all! I had no idea you were an honour guard!" Riley said.

"Then it was lucky enough for both of us that I recognised your glasses. What's it been? Five ages?"

"Nearing six, I think," Riley nodded.

"Wow. How's the war going? Well for you, obviously, because you're alive," Clark inquired.

"Ugh, don't even get me started. But I suppose I am fortunate for having survived Halo's destruction," Riley answered with a chuckle.

Clark gasped. "_You _were on the sacred ring? The one that was destroyed?"

"Sure was! Now, I don't mean to brag or anything, but, I single-handedly saved the entire armada stationed there from a similar fate."

"By the gods……and they haven't promoted you? I would just assume you'd make _at least_ Shipmaster."

"Well you know, being the humble soldier I am, I turned down the hundreds of promotions offered to me. All I ask is to be remembered."

"Unreal. My best friend's a hero."

"Psh, only a hero? _My_ best friend's an honour guard! When did you get promoted?"

"……After my father died."

"What? When did _this_ happen?"

"Last age. The other captain of the guard and a councilor from the Prophet of Mercy's staff came to our home and told us. Since the duties of the honour guard run down a clan line, I was next after my father." Sangheili tradition forbids children from knowing who their real fathers were, but since honour guard is such an important rank, honour clans are allowed to know of their direct sires.

"Oh, well if it's any consolation, your duty sounds a lot easier than mine," Riley said with his signature laugh.

"I missed your laugh. You have _no_ idea how happy I am to see you. Everything became so dismal when the war began and the population waned."

"I missed this place _so_ much. I'm _so sick_ of just war all the time. I don't even know _why_ we're fighting the humans. _I_ personally _like_ them. Very interesting field of studies. You know, _I_ was in charge of the Center of Human Studies on the two cruisers I was on."

"Is that so?"

"Sure was! I was pretty much, like, the third-highest rank."

"I can believe it. You were always in your room reading up on their race instead of outside with your relatives learning the art of battle. But you do know that human sympathy is a sin, correct?"

"Eh, I'm already considered a disgrace to my clan and the Sangheili, what's a little sympathy?"

"Well, try not to flaunt it outside of your station. I'd hate to see you executed. Speaking of human affairs, are you still playing the saxophone?" Clark inquired.

"_Absolutely_!" Riley said, with a surprised attitude. "What would make you think I'd stopped?"

"I don't know. I figured you wouldn't have time with the war or the Prophet on the ship giving you a hard time or something."

"Nope. I was even in the Covenant Imperial Marching Band for three years! I was _totally_ section leader, too."

"I didn't even know we _had_ a marching band, that's fantastic!"

"Well, we _did_ have a marching band. 'The man' shut us down three years ago, but we reunited and played for the Prophets finally, which helped to stop the war. But apparently, it only worked for a few cycles because they're sending us back out again," Riley explained.

"What? I _don't want_ you to go back to war, I don't want _anyone_ to go back to war," Clark said mournfully.

"I know, buddy, me either. But, we've got to make the best of it," Riley assured, putting an arm around his best friend. "How are things in the ol' neighbourhood?"

"Eh, I've had my hands full with my father and my position so things have been a little difficult. No one's moved, few have perished," Clark asked, returning the favour.

"I bet. Well, let's not reflect on that stuff, then. Here, I'll help," Riley said, hefting up one of Clark's food modules.

"Thanks. What about _your_ position? What's it like being a professional soldier?"

"Well, you know, it's—" Riley was struggling to make up some elaborate and graphic description when he was roughly shoved away from Clark, the food module dropping out of his hand.

"Watch where you tread, _heel_!" a monstrous Brute growled as he briefly turned to face them. Giving a snort of frustration, he turned and lumbered down the street.

"_That's_ not very nice," Riley said, brushing leaves from the bush he'd fallen into off his armour.

"Just ignore that beast, Riley," Clark spat, helping him up. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm not bleeding. Where'd he come from? Isn't this _our_ portion of High Charity?"

"I'm starting to think that it isn't anymore. The Jiralhanae seem to be moving in lately. It's been going on for a few lapses now. You see them more frequently."

"How strange……" Riley commented, staring after the Brute.

"We're nearly home," Clark said suddenly.

"Hm?" Riley answered, knocked out of his stupor. Clark pointed ahead and Riley looked up. His house was five down. He grinned and took off straight for it.

A crimson-armoured Elite emerged from the same house as the automatic front door slid open with the air of a very old and very loved machine. He held a steaming mug in one hand as he yawned loudly. He listened to his spine pop as he turned his torso to stretch it out. He had just picked up the morning newspanel and was about to take a sip of his beverage when he heard someone down the street hollering like a Jackal with hemorrhoids.

"Don't they know it's Wednesday?" he growled.

"Uncle Chuckspa, Aunt Gladjs, Uncle Śzerman, _it_'_s me_! Riley! I'm home!"

He saw a blue-armoured Elite barreling towards the house through the thick, round lenses in his glasses. Upon sight of the loud Elite, he gasped and swiftly reentered his house just in time. He shoved his hands up against the doorframe, doing anything he could to keep the young Sangheili out. The beacon on the door pulsed red; locked.

"_He_'_s back_……" Uncle Chuckspa whispered to himself. "Gladjs! Gladjs, he's back!" he warned.

Riley's aunt was sitting at the table, gazing sorrowfully at some old holos of his nephew, like he could be found doing much of the time.

"_Gladjs_!"

"What's going on, Chuckspa?" he answered.

"Gladjs, _he's back_," he said.

"Who's back? Śzerman? Couldn't be. He just left for Cita—"

"—_No_! _Riley's back_," he said, growing quieter.

"_HE IS_?! _LET HIM IN_!" he yelled, rising from the table and breaking for the door.

"_No_! Don't let him in!"

"_Are you mad_?! He's our _nephew_! He's been at war for nearly _six ages_!" Aunt Gladjs said.

"Aunt Gladjs, I'm back!" Riley exclaimed as fell through the left bay window, landing on the perch. He shut it, straightened out, and was assaulted by his aunt.

"Oh, Riley!" he said, throwing his arms around his nephew. "Thank the Forerunners you're safe! We missed you so!"

"I missed you too, Aunt Gladjs," Riley said, nuzzling him.

"Chuckspa!" he said, shoving him in front of Riley. "Embrace your nephew! He's safe!"

Uncle Chuckspa favoured Riley, who was holding his arms out awaiting a hug, with an iffy stare. "Um, yes……welcome home," he said, patting him on the head.

"Aw, c'mere _you_!" he said, seising his uncle in a lung-deflating embrace. Uncle Chuckspa's face distorted with pain. "I guess you're still having trouble with the front door, that's why it shut on me."

Aunt Gladjs shot Uncle Chuckspa a peeved stare. Discarding his anger, he reached out and stroked one of Riley's lower jaws. "Look at you. You're so mature and soldierly. If only the clan could see you."

"Aw, not really. You should see some of the other guys," Riley said. "My friend Zuka is—"

"—Your _friend_?" Aunt Gladjs said cheekily. "He wouldn't happen to be a _partner_, _would he_?"

"I _wish_," Riley said.

"You need to find yourself a good partner, Riley. Your Uncle Śzerman and I have been asking other clans if they have any available young soldiers for you of late."

"_Aunt Gladjs_," Riley said, frustrated.

" What's his clan name?" his uncle asked firmly.

"Chuckspa, _don't_ start with this," Gladjs threatened.

"'Zamam."

"……You picked one of _them_?" Uncle Chuckspa said bitterly. "Well, if he's of the aristocracy, perhaps you join into some money."

"Don't mind Chuckspa, he went to bed late last night," Aunt Gladjs said. Uncle Chuckspa collapsed in his favourite chair in front of the holovision and turned it on, muttering to himself about snobbery and the upper class and how much he resented them.

"Wait, whatever happened to Clark?" Riley asked himself as the door opened and he peered outside. "Darn it all! I left him back there!"

The honour guard had made his way to his next-door house and was in the process of carrying his groceries inside.

"Sorry I ditched you, Clark. Here, let me help," his friend offered.

"It's not a problem. I know you must be excited to see your clan members."

"Clark! Neizd Y'Rböd!" Aunt Gladjs bid him good morning.

"Neizd Y'Rböd, Master 'Bodens!"

"Clark, must I keep reminding you? You may call me by my forename."

"But it's not formal."

"So? You're an honour guard now. That's one of the highest ranks. _I_ should be calling _you_ Excellency. Won't you come inside and visit?"

"With all due respect, I must accompany my father to the burial grounds," he said, nodding formally. "I'll come over later, Rye. Nice to see you all! Say 'hello' to Master 'Bodensee and Master 'Perigee for me!" he said as he bid them farewell and entered his house.

"Clark says 'hi!'" Riley yelled to his other uncle.

"Your Uncle Śzerman stepped out to attend Citadel and then to do a little grocery shopping, I assume he'll return sometime in the afternoon." The Sangheili worshipped in places they called "Citadel". Being of strict warrior upbringing, blending the fighting culture with religion was a tradition their forefathers had begun long, long ago.

Riley chuckled. "Oh, Uncle Śzerm. How's his leg doing?"

"Eh, not any better I'm afraid, and we can't afford an operation. Not that he would agree to one, anyway. He's such a Sangheili."

"Oh, well, couldn't _you_ do it, Aunt Gladjs?"

"I could, Riley, but I don't have the instruments do to so. If I did, the real problem is getting his consent, which he won't give."

"Oh."

"Yes. Would you like me to fix you something to eat? You probably haven't had a decent meal in ages. We're all very acquainted with the rations you have to choke down on the warships."

"No thank you, Aunt Gladjs. I think I'munna go upstairs and relax in my room for a bit," Riley said. "I'll probably want something later, I'll keep you posted."

"Very well. I'm _so_ glad you're safe," he said one last time before taking a seat on the sofa.

"I love you guys," Riley said as he hurried upstairs.

As a rule, entire Sangheili clans lived together in large fortress-like keeps, however, there were exceptions like Riley's family. Their home was smaller in size compared to the others in the city, only two relatively short stories. The colour scheme was obscenely typical of members of the Covenant……purple, gray, and blue. The second of two doors on the right of the hallway opened automatically and he entered his room.

"Marty!" he hollered, holding his arms out in a gangster gesture to his computer, the long screen on the right wall.

"Hey, hey! It's Riley! I haven't seen you in a blue moon, baby!" it answered in a seductive, Barry White voice. "What's it been now, six ages?"

"Pretty much," Riley answered, collapsing on his bed. He took a good, long stare around his room, realising just how close he had come to forgetting what it looked like. The walls were gray with rustic stone flooring, reminiscent of the keeps on Sangheilios. The walls, in question, were covered with posters of famous human jazz artists, as well as a few maps of the Earth and random photos he had most likely tore out of_ National Geographic_. He sighed deeply, savouring the artificial, somewhat musty High Charity breeze that blew in through the window to the left of his bed. He closed his eyes, happy to be home. Feeling a little restless, he figured he'd take a quick run about the town. Making his way back downstairs, he notified his relatives of his plans, like all good adult-children should.

"I'm gonna go into town for a unit."

"Alright, Riley. Take a cloak."

"Aunt Gladjs, it's mild outside!" he said as he jumped off of the stoop and strolled down the sidewalk, whistling George Gershwin's "Japanese".

As he was striding along, minding his own, he approached a mangy looking Sangheili sitting on the sidewalk with a cigarette in his mouth and a TerroriZOR bottle strapped to a hip. He was wearing a torn leather and chain mail outfit loaded with patches with names like "Grenade Sandwich", "Anatomical Gift", and "Lord//Tailor".

"Hey, Riley," the other soldier said.

"Hello, Pongo," he replied. Riley knew this Elite, but not very well.

"What's up?"

"Nothin' much. Just making my rounds about town."

"Are you busy tonight?" Pongo asked.

"I'll be doing some hefty time-spending with my family," Riley answered with a smile.

"Yeah, that's right. Weren't you like, in the war or some shit?"

"Yep."

"Psh," Pongo rolled his eyes. "Wanna go to an underground show?"

"I don't know what that means."

Pongo looked over Riley's shoulder and observed the area, to make sure no one was near or eavesdropping. He moved closer to him, taking Riley by one shoulder.

"You know, like, a filthcore show."

"……_Still_ don't know what that means," he answered with a chuckle.

"You know, the human kind of music that glorifies no religion, no authority, no bathing, and being anti-Julia Child?"

Riley's jaws went slack in offense. "What do you have against Julia Child?!"

"Julia Child was a yuppie, capitalistic machine. Fuck Julia Child."

"This music sounds……angry."

"It is. Besides, Sesa 'Blasfemeee's band is going to be playing."

"'Blasfemeee? I think you mean 'Refum—" Pongo closed his hands around Riley's jaws and looked around hastily.

"—_Shhh_! _Don_'_t_ say his name out loud! Someone might hear you. Use his stage name," he spat quietly.

"Is he just embarrassed because his name means 'lost fool'?" Riley said through Pongo's hands.

"No! Don't get nosey, you'll find out soon enough," he said, letting go of Riley's jaws. "But his band is _so_ good. He's the most amazing guitarist I've ever heard and his band isn't solely Sangheili, which is also pretty epic. My band is also playin'. We're not nearly as good as his, but we're trying to get some support so we can cut a record soon. Can I count on you to be there tonight?"

"Well, I'll do what I can, but I can't guarantee anything. Congrats on starting your band, though. I didn't know Sesa was in a band. I thought he was still on Threshold building that GoodAid that we don't need."

"Thanks……wait, you actually _know_ him? Personally?" Pongo asked, enticed.

"Well sure. He was my original band buddy and by that I mean he was in the C.I.M.B. for like, a few units before they sent him to Threshold to build that GoodAid that we don't need, and I barely talked to him," Riley said with an annoying laugh.

"Man, you are _so_ lucky. You have no idea how pumped I am just to be in close proximity to him. Killer. Okay, thanks a lot Riley, see you tonight," he said, pounding fists.

"What's your band's name?" Riley asked.

"A//Prophet//E," he answered. "We should be first."

"Boy, that's um, distinct. Where's it at?"

"Go into town and you'll find an older-looking munitions warehouse. I'll be waiting there for you at the twenty-third cycle, okay?"

"Aye, aye, Captain."

"Okay, I'll see you then."

Riley then realised that Pongo's band's name was the biggest logo painted on his garb, scrawling across his back.

"Oh, and Pongo?"

The filthcore Elite turned around.

"……Never apologise."

Narrowing his eyes, Pongo slinked away.

"Everyone's just as busy as I remembered," he said with a chuckle as he continued on.

He entered his house after his trip into town and sighed deeply. "Boy, it's amazing just how much you forget when you go away to war," he said aloud, collapsing on the sofa. Uncle Chuckspa was still sitting in his chair. "So……how have you been, Uncle Chuckspa?"

"Was doing perfectly, until this morning," he said, focused on the alien holovision panel.

"Did you throw your back out again?" Riley asked with a laugh.

"I threw my sanity out."

Riley laughed uproariously. Uncle Chuckspa sank deeper into his chair. "Oh, Uncle Chuckspa! I missed you. Hey, are you and Uncle Śzerm still working at that munitions factory?"

"Yes."

"How's that going?"

"Fine."

"Groovy, groovy. What's Aunt Gladjs doing?"

"Riley, have you any idea how difficult it is to be a doctor in Sangheili culture?"

"……I'll take that is a 'he's still looking'."

"I have returned!" they both heard, along with the old, metallic whirr of the front door.

"Uncle Śzerm!" Riley declared.

"Riley?! Is that you?" an Elite wearing worn black armour asked, fumbling with three significantly smaller cargo modules as the door started to slide to a close, but stopped in the middle of the belt. Uncle Śzerm frowned, kicked it, and it slid shut. "Hold on a unit, I am juggling groceries," he said. Aunt Gladjs entered and assisted him in delivering the modules to the kitchen table. After setting them down, he adjusted his small, square glasses and outstretched his arms to his nephew.

"Would you look at that! The Forerunners brought you home safe and sound!" he exclaimed. "I have been attending Citadel more since you left. I knew it would please our lords."

"Yeah, thanks for the help," Riley said quietly.

"Well? What have you to say about your tour of duty?"

"I say that these are gonna be the shortest days ever, because they're shipping us back out as soon as we get orders," Riley said, trying to keep his spirits up.

"What?!" Aunt Gladjs said as he scrambled to catch a food vial that slipped out of his hands. He missed and it bounced on the counter.

"Yeah, didn't you know? The Prophets reinitiated the war on humankind."

"_Excellent_……" Uncle Śzerm said villianously to himself.

"Never mind, Riley," Aunt Gladjs said, putting an arm around him.

"Why, if I had not been maimed by those filthy apes and forced to take a medical discharge, I would give them a piece of my mind, I would! I would—I would—"

"—Don't get yourself worked up, Śzerman. Your blood pressure is high enough," Aunt Gladjs corrected.

"I am aware," Uncle Śzerm said as he gently lowered himself into a chair. His right leg had been severely damaged from a fragmentation grenade that he barely escaped while saving another officer in his squad. He could walk, but had a distinct limp and had to wear a brace for longer excursions.

"Honestly, you should have let me go. You'll wear yourself out doing chores like that, Śzerm," Aunt Gladjs suggested.

"I am not totally crippled and am I not a Sangheili warrior?" he said, removing his glasses and cleaning them. "Riley, be a good sang and fetch my medicinals." Śzerm had a habit of calling medicine "medicinals". It didn't really make any sense, but everyone humoured him.

"Sure thing," he said, looking over the colourful variety of drugs on the countertop. "Which one?" he answered, discovering that there were about six tubes for Uncle Śzerm. Between him and Chuckspa, the war vets and otherwise older Elites, there were at least nine kinds of medication.

"The bottle that says Anycydem."

"Which one?" Riley commented, picking two up and examining them.

"The one with the blue top."

"……Which one?"

"It should have my name on it."

"Don't worry, I got it."

"You should not use contractions. It is not the Sangheili way. Witches use contractions," Uncle Śzerm suggested, accepting his medication.

"I'm a little more worried about my smoking habit than my contractions."

"Witches also smoke."

"Then there are an awful lot of witches in the army. Excuse me, Aunt Gladjs?"

"Yes, Riley?"

"Would it be okay if I went to a concert tonight?"

"At what time?"

"Around the twenty-third cycle."

"Don't you wish to spend time with your family?"

"I will be in bed by then," Uncle Śzerm chuckled.

"_Of course, _Aunt Gladjs……but if it's alright, I'd like to support my friend. He finally found members to form a band with."

"I don't see why not."

"Thanks!"

"What is the time now?" Uncle Śzerm inquired.

"Nearing the eighth cycle," Riley answered.

"What kind of music do they play?"

"I don't know, something called 'filthcore'."

"Lovely," Uncle Śzerm commented sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"It's fairly new around here. A few of the other Sangheili just got into it. The whole style is pretty much loud and obscene and the lyrics are pretty much about anti-everything, equality, stuff like that. My friend Pongo told me all about it and he said there are like, a bunch of different styles. It's also human-influenced—"

"—We _do not_ talk of humans in this household," Uncle Śzerm sneered. Talking about support for or even _mentioning_ humans around Uncle Śzerm was like asking yourself if you wanted to die.

"But Pongo said all the bands are made of members of the Covenant."

"You cannot always believe what everyone says, Riley, _especially_ in this day and age. Have you not heard the news of all the witches running rampant of late?"

"He's right, Riley," Aunt Gladjs added.

"Well……we might not necessarily _agree_ on the same things," Riley said quietly.

Uncle Śzerm and Aunt Gladjs both ceased their actions and looked to Riley with concern.

"……What?" he asked.

"I ought to strike you for saying such a thing!" Śzerm threatened.

"Calm down, you old sang," Aunt Gladjs said, easing him back in his chair.

"What compels you to utter such nonsense?!"

"I just—"

"—Are you abusing drugs?" Uncle Śzerm asked, resting one elbow on the table and leaning a bit closer, kind of like a concerned father does.

"Uh……no?" Riley said with a small, bewildered chuckle.

"Then if a substance is not creating such slander, what is?"

"You're not turning into a witch, are you?" Gladjs questioned.

"I'm not a witch," Riley answered, a little offended.

"Are you at all doubting your faith in the Covenant?"

Riley thought for a moment. The worrisome stares from his relatives were making him rather nervous about his truthful answer. He sighed deeply and hoped for the best.

"……Do you want the truth?"

"Yes, please."

"……Promise you won't get mad or anything?"

"_No_," Uncle Śzerm said instantly. He combated a look of disgrace from his brother with an equally displeased one.

"Go ahead, Riley," Gladjs finally said.

"……You know, serving in the army and being a soldier and witnessing first hand just what the Prophets are making us do, well……it's making me question whether or not this is _reall_y worth it, and if this is _really_ what the Forerunners want us to be doing. I mean, _I_ see nothing wrong with the humans. I was even the central for their studies back when I was on the _Truth and Reconciliation _and before that when I was on the _Wrongness Begat Suffering_. It's just……if our hierarchs or deities or whatever are making us plunder and murder and spill all kinds of blood, that's not a religion or a belief that _I_ want to take part in."

His monologue left Śzerm and Gladjs with the same stares of combined confusion, concern, and fear. Riley's family was very pious, like all Sangheili, and therefore somewhat myopic. They didn't know what to think about this new idea.

"No nephew of _mine_ will disgrace our clan with such vile blasphemy! It is the Sangheili way to fight, conquer, and spill blood. The measure of a warrior is by how many he has vanquished! It was the same code our forefathers obeyed and it is the same code _you _shall obey!" Śzerman ordered.

Riley rose from the table and grabbed one of the food vials that was left out. "Technically, I _am_ a warrior. I know how to fight. My code is different. I am an adult and I am free to follow my own code of honour."

"When I get a hold of you—" Śzerman began, rising from the table. In a panic, Riley sped out of the kitchen.

"You are lucky you can still run! It will not be so easy when I have finished with you! Such insolence!_ I_ am not responsible for that, I assure you! This is not the young sang _I_ taught!"

"……No, I'm afraid he's got a point," Gladjs sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"I beg your pardon?!"

"I can personally guaranteeyou that _every_ soldier has thought like this at one point. Even _I_ have to plead guilty to imagining life without the Prophet's will. Being bombarded with constant battle and killing really alters the mind. I've seen more death, pain, and suffering than any _soldier_, being on the medical platoon. Now that I've served, my head's on straight again. The Prophets are wise, they know what they're doing, and so does the council," Aunt Gladjs explained.

"Need I remind you, Gladjs, that _I_ was a well-renowned assassin for the holy ones? My duty consisted of seeking and destroying certain individuals, sneaking into human establishments and bases, and slaughtering handfuls of the vermin. There are most likely hundreds of deaths I am personally responsible for and none of them have altered my thinking or challenged my beliefs. _Chuckspa_ may refuse to talk about certain aspects of _his_ military days but _I_ am most grateful that the beings that needed termination met their end at my hand."

"Śzerman, you're both seasoned veterans of war, I'm aware, but I find your unfeeling, sadistic ways repulsive. Chuckspa was a major in the army and has a damned high numbers of casualties under his belt. He did his part to serve his religion and was rightfully disturbed by all the killing. I refuse to sit here and listen to you slander my partner."

"……Why did you study medicine? Did you know you would cause Sangheili to lose honour by bleeding them?"

"……Because I wish to heal my brothers. I do not view my work as dishonourable although others may."

Śzerman averted his eyes from his brother's and then continued to speak. "……How did you, Chuckspa, and I become successful in the military and Riley has not? Should he not be? Is it not genetic? And was his father not—"

"—True, very true."

"Well, I do not know, Gladjs……I do not know."

An obnoxious metallic sound rang through the house as someone hit the doorbell.

"I wonder who that could be," Aunt Gladjs said, getting up from his chair and heading towards the door.

"Who's there?" Riley asked, coming down the staircase but stopping halfway.

The door opened for Gladjs as he approached it and revealed a Jackal wearing a navy uniform, complete with a cap with a Drone on it. He was staring at a holopanel and standing next to a tall cargo module. He looked up slowly a few seconds after Gladjs had opened the door. His face indicated that he _obviously_ _loved_ his job and was the _happiest _Kig-Yar in High Charity.

"Issa……Riley 'Bodensee 'ere?" he drawled.

"Oh, yes, one moment……it's for you, Riley!" Gladjs said with slight disdain upon seeing the Jackal.

"Is Uncle Śzerm gonna kill me?"

"Uncle Śzerm is not going to kill you."

"Okay then," he replied as he descended the stairs and made the delivery Jackal's day by laughing. "Hi, Delivery Boy!"

"Iss Deliv'ry _Kig-Yar_……" he corrected with ample hostility. "'Ere's ya shit."

"How about this instead? Hi, hater," Riley said with a mocking wave, sounding rather disgusted by his hate. "I know you see me."

The Delivery Kig-Yar turned to leave, but stopped as soon as he got to the bottom step. "Oh, yeah……ya Banshee's at tha shop in town. Yull need ta go 'an pickkid up _provided_ 'chyoo kinn still yoos it."

Riley gasped dramatically. "NO! _Not 'Dethmobile'_!" he said loudly.

"Whateva……" the Delivery Kig-Yar said, sauntering down to his vehicle.

"I gotta go down there and check on my baby!" Riley said, sprinting down the stoop and into the street.

"Take a cloak!" Aunt Gladjs called after him, but he was already halfway down their street.

The mechanic's shop in High Charity was small and run by two Elites, two brothers from clan 'Fortum. The workers were all Huragok and did their jobs with pride, or lack of for that matter. One of the Elites was known as "The" Boyne "Buzz Saw" 'Fortum and was the most beloved, as well as one of only two, Elite engineer/mechanics known to the Covenant. He had been stationed on the _Truth and Reconciliation_ with Riley for a few months to help along with the Huragok. He sat on top of a work bench, tossing at tool that looked similar to a wrench and catching it with one hand while taking a cigarette break.

Riley arrived at the shop within moments, panting and doubled over with his hands on his knees.

"Heeeeeey! Look who it is! Riley!" Boyne said cheerfully.

"H-Howdy, Boyne. Whooo, boy!" he said, placing his hands on his lower back.

"Honestly, sang. Do you not live down the street?" Boyne asked, continuing to toss the tool.

"Down the street and to the left," Riley panted a hostile correction.

"Well, what can I do you in for?"

"I'm here to see '_Dethmobile_'……I wanna know what you've done with him!" Riley said, grabbing Boyne by his navy braces and shaking him.

"Whoa, whoa! Relax! '_Dethmobile_' is right here—"

"—Yay!"

"I have yet to take a look at him, though."

"Hurry, man, hurry!" Riley whined.

"Fine, fine. After all, I _am_ on my break," he said. He eased himself down on an anti-grav creeper and slid underneath the Banshee, muttering to himself about plasma cannons and leaking fuel tanks. Riley waited nervously, wringing his hands uncontrollably.

"Sa-weet Sangheili……_what_ have you been _flying_?" Boyne asked as he slid out from underneath the tattered Banshee, his arms covered in a lime green liquid that dripped down to his elbows.

"Tell me true……is he gonna be okay?" Riley inquired.

"Well, Riley, I am going to be brutally honest……this Banshee is in the saddest shape I have ever come to know," Boyne said, placing one hand on the aircraft's rounded nose. "I _cannot believe_ you even got _any_ altitude with it."

"He was getting to the point where we couldn't get more than three hundred units," Riley said, sounding ashamed.

"I mean……the right wing is completely detached, only one of the plasma turrets is operational, the fuel-rod cannon in not functional, your throttle is shot, and your coolant system is leaking like a son-of-a-bitch," Boyne explained, displaying his hands so Riley could see. He wasn't kidding……"_Dethmobile_" looked like he had just come from a demolition dog fight. The whole ship was crushed and abused, covered with plasma scald marks and bullet pockets, and Riley had spray-painted "_Dethmobile_!" on the side. The right wing was also torn away, the light panel and navigation system inside sparked and dimmed in and out when operated, and it didn't get higher than three hundred feet.

Boyne sighed deeply. "Riley……I think it is time you scrapped '_Dethmobile_'," he said, placing a comforting hand on Riley's back after wiping them clean.

"_NNNNNNOOOOOO!_" Riley screamed at the top of his lungs. The whole galaxy probably heard him scream quite clearly.

"Whoa! Calm down, Rye! You can get a new one! It is military issue," Boyne reassured, taking his hands off of his ears.

"_NO_! I _don't_ _want_ a new one! I _want_ my '_Dethmobile_'!"

"Riley, I am not doing this to be mean. I am doing this because I want to save your life. This Banshee is a screaming, metal, deathtrap. Do you want to be in it when it _explodes_? Which could very well be the next time you start it up?"

"He's _not_ a deathtrap……he's a death _mobile_……and he's _not_ just a Banshee……he's my _friend_. The _only thing_ in the _entire_ universe who doesn't judge me no matter what. Who listens to my problems ceaselessly without cutting me off or insulting me. He's my shoulder to cry on, my big, metal, plasma-mounted shoulder."

"I understand being in love with a machine better than anyone, Riley, but sometimes you need to let these things go."

"But……I don't _wanna_ let him go……I'm _not ready_ to say goodbye!"

"Wayne, get out here for a unit," Boyne called to his brother. A shorter Sangheili materialised from a doorway near the back of the shop.

"Yo," he answered, snapping his purple braces against his broad chest.

"Wayne, take a look at this Banshee. Would you let _anyone _ride in this?"

His brother took one look at the destroyed vessel and tried to contain his laughter. Failing to do so, he laughed until his eyes watered, leaning against a tank of anti-freeze for support. When he was finished, he stood back up, sighing contentedly.

"Was that all you needed?"

"Yep. Thanks, Wayne."

"No, thank _you_. I have not laughed that hard in ages!" he chuckled, reentering the office.

"The verdict is in, Riley. He is _suffering_, in _pain_. You need to think about what is best for _him_."

"_I'm_ what's best for him!"

"Riley, the first cut is the deepest, but you have _got to_ get rid of that thing. Go down to the chop shop and ask for 'Torkumee, he would jump all over an offer like this," Boyne suggested, handing a holographic card to his friend. Riley glanced down at the card glumly.

The blue-armoured Sangheili sighed deeply. "What do I owe you?"

"Nothing. All I did was look at it. Tell you what, _I_ will give _you_ fifty Y'Tolz for this Banshee."

"……I could use the money."

"There, see? I am trying to help you. Wayne, Täiseizdcëip Y'Tolz, ëzsorp," he called to his brother. The other Sangheili returned, rattling a handful of coins in his hand. He elegantly let the stack fall into the soldier's hand. Riley gazed upon the money mournfull.

"It is for your own good, Rye. If it explodes with you in it, it will kill you instantly," Boyne said, patting him on the back.

"_Everyone_ says it'll help……but _I_ say it'll hurt," Riley said.

*

"Do you think the Flood on Delta Halo are gonna be as anal as the ones on 04?" Private Fredrickson asked of Stanley. "Pun intended."

"Well, there are seven or some-odd number of rings total and I've heard that each is run by a different form of government," he answered. "As for that terrible pun, I don't think you'll find _anyone_ like the guys on 04 in _any_ race."

"I really, _really_ hope we get the king government. Boy, I'd like to be a knight. Why, that would be so nifty," Cooper said.

"Actually, you'd all probably be serfs," Captain Anderson corrected.

"Who you callin' a smurf?"

"You bloody fool, it's _serf_, like one of the fahm workers," Dunkirk commented.

"My host grew up on a farm on Harvest, you know," Cooper said defensively. "It's not so bad."

Corporal Fredrickson rearranged a few of his cards. "When are we going to get to this ring, Rourke?"

Suddenly, the whole ship jerked to a halt and everyone was thrown forward. There was a loud rumble as the dropship landed nose-first into the earth.

"……I think wur here," Big Pat stated.

"Does that answer your question?" Rourke answered.

"Okay, _no one_ noticed that?" Stanley asked. "_No one_ noticed our ship barreling toward a huge alien ringworld?"

"Sorry 'bout that, Stan. The ring just came up in an instant. But Anderson was driving."

"Makes sense. Okay, is anyone injured?" Stanley inquired.

"Well, actually Stan, my neck is sorta—"

"—Good. Everyone out."

They made their way off of the window and the floor. Anderson lowered the ramp and the soldiers stepped out onto the new ring. The air was fresh and crisp and there was a gentle breeze blowing. The soothing sound of a lake's current washing upon a shore lofted in the winds. Seeing as they had spent all of their lives in night-like conditions with only the harsh lighting in the underground lair and Library's chambers to see by, the sunlight and pastel-coloured land was something new. They lived, more or less, like mole people and it took time for their eyes to adjust. A few birds cackled loudly as they passed overhead.

Everything was good. Cliché, but good, nonetheless……

"Dear god, this is breathtaking," Anderson said, removing his broken spectacles and looking over a mountain range in the far off distance.

"This is _so_ much different than rotting vegetation, basement smell, and stale air," Fredrickson said, taking in a deep breath.

"Anyone know what time it is?" Cooper asked.

Anderson looked at his pocket watch. "It's nearly one thirty."

"……Wasn't one o'clock when Ivan and Jared would run one a' their daily inspections of tha barracks?" Dunkirk laughed.

"Yeah, they wouldn't let anyone leave until the whole place was checked out……_right_, Anderson?" Fredrickson asked, nudging him.

"Oh, um, yes……" he said weakly.

"I think Ivan checked out _a little more_ than Anderson's sleeping quarters," Stanley said.

"_Like his butt_?" Cooper said loudly over everyone.

Everyone favoured him with distasteful expressions.

"Too soon," Fredrickson said.

"I think you need ta apologise t'Anderson for that one, mate," Dunkirk said.

"……I'm sorry, Anderson."

"Damn right you're sorry! All of you! What _I_ did with Commander Ivan is _my_ own business," he said.

"Too bad _Hindenburg _did it better," Fredrickson added.

Anderson lunged at the Corporal, but Rourke and Big Pat grabbed his arms.

"You gotta admit, he got you good there," Stanley said.

"I _hate_ all of you," Anderson said as he jerked his arms out of restraint and picked his glasses up

off of the ground, which had fallen off in his attempted assault.

"Oh man, this is _soooooo_ much better than the Nazi ring," Stanley declared.

"What about you, TJ? Doesn't this feel great? No oppression, no rules, no blatant murder without reason. Just all of us doin' whatever the hell we feel like," Stanley said, putting an arm around the melancholy Captain.

"……Well, it's just……I was raised with rules, regulations, and a strict schedule so I—"

"—Boy, he's got it bad," Cooper whispered to Dunkirk.

"Well, there's no use sitting out here makin' fun of Anderson all day. We can do that once we've settled in. Why don't we try to find an entrance to the interior of the ring? That's where _we_ were kept, so I'd just assume that's where the Flood here would be," Stanley suggested.

Everyone grabbed what they had managed to scrounge up in the precious moments that had before they left and set off towards an area scattered with ruins. The short journey was rather comfortable, the temperature being neither hot nor cold and the terrain was either grass or dirt, nothing too terrible.

"Hey, Stan? Isn't this particular ring supposed to be run by the Flood Mafia or something?" Cooper inquired.

"Of _that_ I'm not sure."

"Actually……if my assumption is correct, _this_ ring should be run by Führer Gravemind, that would makes this the Communist Halo," Anderson added.

"When did you get so educated, Mr. Schützstaffeln?" Stanley asked.

"I heard it from the Commanders on several different occasions," he explained, climbing over some rubble. "This was the closest ring to ours because the transmissions took the shortest time to complete. Commanders Ivan and Jared always talked about how they resented communism to its core. They were right, too. Communism is the gall of the universe."

"Figures," Stanley whispered as he rolled his eye. "Okay, so, did you guys manage to get anything from the base? I mean, you couldn't have had more than six minutes."

"Well, we've got one can of biofoam, one gas mask, three MA5B assault rifles, and some ammunition for an S2 AM sniper rifle," Fredrickson read off.

"Why did you get sniper ammo for an assault rifle?" Stanley inquired.

"I thought we could use it."

"That's such a carrier idea."

"Hey, when you've got less than six minutes to live, you're not thinkin' about too much other than 'get the heck out'."

"……Ivan always used the S2 AM as his main weapon. He was an excellent marksman," Anderson said mournfully.

"Woodju give it a rest with the Ivan nonsense?! _God damn_!" Stanley ordered.

"Stanley, he was a great leader, whether you choose to believe that or not."

"Being able to persuade your people by making dramatic speeches and sleeping with them doesn't constitute a good leader. What makes a good leader is one's ability to provide and to heal, not rant and fuck. Let's not waste any more time. It would be just our luck if some Covenant decided to show up. They've got a nasty habit of looking for 'holy relics' or whatever."

*

Clark visited a downtrodden Riley after his heartbreak at the mechanic's. They relocated to Riley's room to make idle chit-chat after he had returned from his emotional visit and Clark's escapade to the burial grounds with his father. If there's one thing you need to know about Clark (provided you haven't picked up on it yet) it's that he's a complete and total daddy's boy, to the point where it starts to get unhealthy. It's been this way all his life. We all know a guy like Clark……poor sap.

"You know what I don't get about life?" Riley said.

"That our race thrives on the ability to fight and kill and we're forced to live under the same standards as our barbaric forefathers and that we're trapped in an ongoing circle of oppression and misunderstanding?" Clark answered.

"Well, yeah, but I meant like, do midgets have their own tailors or do they just buy children's clothes?" Riley said.

"……Well that depends on whether or not they're proportionate," Clark said. "_Then_ we get into the matter of dwarves versus little people. 'Midget' isn't politically correct."

"……Wow. I didn't think you'd answer that, but yeah, I _totally_ agree with what you said about our culture and the oppression thing. Psh, I told my uncles what I think about our code of honour and—"

"—That probably wasn't a good move on your part."

"Eh, in the long run it _was_ kinda dumb, but, I feel better. And they _did_ ask. I don't want to end up a brainwashed robot like the rest of the Sangheili," Riley said, flopping back down on his bed.

"My dad's pretty devout too," Clark said.

"Hey, are you busy tonight?"

"Um, no, I don't think so."

"Want to go to a concert with me?"

"What kind?"

"This kind of music called 'filthcore'. One of my friends is in a band and apparently this one Sangheili's band is going to be there and it's kind of a big deal to everyone. Sounds kinda interesting and I'd like to learn more about the sub-culture. It's human influenced so naturally I'm interested," Riley explained.

"I think I'll have to pass. I don't really listen to music," Clark said.

"Alright then, but yer gonna miss a totally bangin' party."

"Hey, Riley?"

"Mm-_hmmm_?" he said like a stereotypical black woman.

"What was being on a war cruiser like?" Clark asked, intrigued.

"Eh, it wasn't that great. I mean, it was like, cool for maybe three units, but then it got old once you realised just what you were doing on there. I hate being in the army. I miss the days when all I had to do was hang out with you and spend time with my family," Riley explained.

"I bet you met a lot of new people."

Riley thought about this. He _had_ met new people, for sure, but they usually taunted him, tripped him, pushed his face into his rations when he was eating, tripped him again, or played "Keep Away" with his glasses.

"Well, how do I put this lightly……every Sangheili I met called me some rude name, ignored me, or kicked the snot out of me."

"Really? Why?" Clark inquired.

"Look at me. I'm a dork, my laugh is annoying as heck, and I like humans. I'm a freak in the eyes of our culture," he said.

"I don't think you're a freak, Riley."

"Thanks, Clark. I've got maybe three Sangheili friends in the long run……counting you."

"That can't be true. I'm sure you've got more."

There was a short pause in their conversation.

"Clark? Can I ask you a sort of personal question?"

"Sure, Riley. You can ask me anything you want."

"How did your father die? Seeing as I've missed a lot of things and my family never told me about it in their messages."

"Well……they didn't really tell us, my dad and me. I explained that a councilor and a few other soldiers showed up at our house one day and informed us that he was killed on duty. This is his armour."

"Honour guard's the highest rank, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Well, I think you should violently demand answers. You should go up to the council and be like 'I demand answers!'" his friend suggested, shaking both of his fists in the air.

"I can't do _that_, Riley. I'd be discharged or executed for speaking to the council in such a manner." The honour guard leaned back against the bed, distraught.

Drawing in a deep sigh, Riley chose a spot on the floor next to Clark. He put an arm around him and nuzzled him gently.

"I'm sorry, buddy. Are you gonna be okay?"

"……There's really no point in clinging to sorrow anymore. It's not going to change anything."

Riley gave him a disbelieving stare over the top of his glasses.

"……What?" Clark asked, growing nervous.

"That's such a Sangheili thing to say. There's nothing wrong with showing emotion, contrary to what we're told."

"Sorry. I just sort of—"

"—It's not a sign of weakness to cry, you know. Don't believe anything your elders tell you. They're just a bunch of bitter old sangs with highly racial tendencies. So, on a lighter note, what do you wanna do now? Mahjongg? Holo-chess? Oh! We could go on a treasure hunt! Wouldn't _that_ be crazy? It would be nuts."

"Actually, I should be getting home. It's close to supper time," Clark said.

"Yeah, you're right. I should be eating soon too. C'mon, I'll escort you to the door, noble honour guard," he said gallantly, triggering the automatic door for his friend.

They both exited and went downstairs. Uncle Chuckspa was asleep in his chair, Aunt Gladjs was sitting on the sofa crocheting, and Uncle Śzerm was reading.

"Ah, Clark! What is there to tell about in your life, Excellency?" Uncle Sherm exclaimed as they passed through the room.

"Nothing new," Clark answered.

"I see you finally started your duty as honour guard, deepest congratulations!"

"Oh, this," he said with a chuckle. "Yes. After my father was killed, they put me in his—"

"—Oh, that is_ right_. I am sorry," Uncle Śzerm said mournfully. "Be comforted by the fact that he is enjoying a varitable paradise with our holy lords."

"Thank you, Master 'Perigee, I appreciate it," Clark said.

"If there is _ever_ anything we can do for you, I do not care _how_ small a favour, let me know."

"Thank you very much. Goodbye, clan 'Bodens," Clark said as he exited the house.

"Riley, supper will be ready soon," Aunt Gladjs said, looking at the holo-clock on the wall.

"Oh, okay, thanks," he answered as he kicked the door to get it shut all the way and headed into the kitchen behind his aunt. Uncle Śzerm was just taking his seat in the adjoining dining room to the left. Uncle Chuckspa was absent, though. Aunt Gladjs placed four vial holders on the table and sighed with anguish.

"Is Chuckspa _still_ sleeping?" he groaned.

"So it would seem," Riley said with a shrug.

"Well, we can't start without him. Riley, be a dear and go wake him up," Gladjs said, rolling his eyes.

"Sure thing!" With that, Riley hurried into the den and stood over his uncle, who was snoring loudly.

"Uncle Chuckspa! Uncle Chuckspa, wake up! It's time to eat!" he stated loudly. Chuckspa gave no response. Riley sighed, picked up the remote control to the holovision panel from the arm of the chair, pressed a button, and it shut off. Uncle Chuckspa immediately sat up, looking rather delirious.

"Dontchoo turn my programme off like that," he drawled.

"Supper's ready, you sleepyhead," Riley laughed as he went back through the kitchen.

"That psychotic laughter will be the death of me," Chuckspa said to himself as he lowered the footrest and lumbered after his nephew.

"Thanks for stalling supper, Chuckspa," Gladjs spat. He returned the remark with a nasty glare. "Now that we're all together at long last, Śzerman? Would you mind leading us in the benedictions?"

"I would be delighted," Uncle Śzerm said as he cleared his throat and the family members joined hands. Riley rolled his eyes, reflecting on the traditional religious blessing to the Forerunners before meals. Uncle Śzerm then recited a brief prayer. Being highly devoted to his religion, he was also apart of the chant chorale at the nearby citadel and had attended every single sermon given by the Prophet of Regret since his youth.

"H'Cein ezidëb Y'Noiwalsogolb," everybody concluded in unison, including Riley, not wanting to upset his family.

"So, six ages away from home and in the heart of battle," Uncle Śzerm said, adjusting his glasses and choosing a vial filled with liquid a disgusting shade of yellow. "It seems like only yesterday you were stepping on the lift to the _Penance_."

"It feels like a hundred ages since we've seen you," Aunt Gladjs added.

"It's gonna feel so wonderful sleeping in my own bed tonight," Riley answered with a chuckle. "I hope we don't get shipped out again too soon."

"I hope they don't ship you out to another human world. Of course, I'm positive we would be more successful that those mangy Jiralhanae," Aunt Gladjs said.

"Worthless beasts. Never send an _animal_ to do a Sangheili job," Śzerm answered, downing the vial. "Damned creatures have been imposing on our portion of High Charity. Absurdity, _that_ is what it is."

Riley was silent for a moment, twisting his vial around in his hands, causing the thick, blue liquid to creep around the sides of the container. "Hey, Aunt Gladjs, Uncle Chuckspa?"

"Yes, Riley?"

"You know, I'm an adult now and I have a question that you still never answered me when I was a kid."

"Alright, go ahead," Aunt Gladjs said, focusing his attention on his nephew.

"……Where do babies come from?" Riley asked. Everyone at the table halted immediately, Chuckspa even managing to choke on the contents of his vial. Trying to speak over his exaggerated coughing, Gladjs nervously answered.

"Well, um, you see……it's like this……"

"Aunt Gladjs! I'm not four ages old anymore! I'm twenty-nine!"

"……I know, dear. Chuckspa, why don't you inform the lad on the facts of life?" he said quickly, putting Chuckspa on the spot.

"……Uh," he said, stalling as much as he could, hoping Riley's ADD would kick in and cause him to grow bored of waiting. After a few seconds of a knowledge-seeking stare from the young Sangheili, he cleared his throat and sat up. "You see, Riley……when two Sangheili love each other very much, what they do is……I-I can't do this," he concluded, tossing his napkin on the table.

"Chuckspa!" Gladys insisted angrily.

"This is _your_ department!"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"_Alright_, alright! When they decided on having a child, or children, what they do is call up this place that's run by the Council of Particular Worth. It's called the House of Offspring Management. What they do is call up the House and request that they have a child or children. Now, the House can either deny or accept the request based on a series of factors, like family history, health, and whatnot. If they accept the request, they take a tissue sample from both parents and run a series of rigourous tests. If the outcome is successful, the embryo is left for eleven months to incubate and then……you got yourself a kid," he said, placing his napkin back in his lap.

"……Oh, _duh_! _That's_ where they come from!" Riley said with some uproarious laughter.

"_That is_ an interesting topic for supper," Śzerm said, helping himself to another one of his vials.

"I had another question too, one that isn't really related to governmental reproduction, so don't worry Uncle Śzerm……can you tell me about my parents? I mean—I know it's a Sangheili tradition that my uncles are supposed to raise me, but—"

"—_That _is not the Sangheili way. Don't inquire further. I let you get away with too many things around here," Chuckspa said, pointing an accusing finger at his nephew.

"You could've just said 'no'," Riley said to his vial.

"So, I hear you met a young sang on the _Truth and Reconciliation_. Please, tell us about him," Śzerm suggested.

"Oh, um, we're not together or anything," Riley began cheekily.

"That is what they _all _say," Śzerm chuckled. "Have you decided on the colour of your union bands?"

Riley facepalmed as he sighed with frustration.

"You know, your aunt and I have been looking around for a young warrior for you."

"So I've heard."

"I have been doing some thinking. You should ask Clark to join you," his uncle said.

Riley's face went purple. "We're just friends, Uncle Śzerm."

"I believe that makes for an _even better_ reason as to why you two should get a union. Clark is a high-ranked, attractive young sang. I can only imagine what his fighting prowess is like."

"I don't look for partners based solely on his ability to fight," Riley put in.

"Ridiculous! Every Sangheili does!"

"I joined Chuckspa on both his ability as a soldier _and_ his personality," Gladjs defended, tenderly stroking his partner's hand. Uncle Chuckspa belched loudly, continuing to drink his vials.

"……It was seventy-thirty in favour of the prowess," Gladjs sighed, resting his head on one fist in frustration.

"Well, if Clark is not the one for you, one of the 'Apogee sons is not joined. He is a major, you know. I am told he is also a good provider. He would be a good match for you. I will speak with Master 'Apogee tomorrow and arrange for you to meet him."

"You really don't have to, Uncle Śzerm."

"Nonsense! Of course I will. You do not wish to grow old and be without a partner, do you? With the war going on, single warriors are few and far between. Which reminds me, did you take your—"

"—_Yes_, _I_ took _my_ medication, Śzerm. How about _you_?" Chuckspa said with a bit of hostility.

"Oh! No, I did not," he said, hurrying to get up from the table.

"I'll get it, Uncle Śzerm. Don't hurt yourself getting up," Riley said, gently easing him back into his chair.

"Thank you, Riley. You are a good Sangheili."

"How come you always remember if _I_ took my medication or not but you can't even remember your _own_?" Chuckspa questioned.

"Because _I_ put my clan members before myself," Sherm said with pride as Riley placed six containers of pills on the table.

"I didn't know which one you needed so I just grabbed all of them," his nephew laughed.

"_Apparently_," Uncle Chuckspa said to himself as he took a speedy glance at his brother-in-law's torn up leg, which wasn't encased in his armour. He thought that Śzerman was both a fool and a hero.

The rest of the meal coasted much easier, with talk about what the rest of the clan was up to and how each one of them was doing. Riley could only keep his thoughts focused on his parents and where they were and what they were doing, _if_ they were still alive.

* * *

"How long have we been walking for?" Private Cooper whined.

"Judging from the sun, I'd say about a little less than seven hours," Anderson answered.

"Boy, you really are a soldier, aren't cha?" Private Dunkirk said.

"Those are _basic_ survival skills, Private. Even the simplest of creatures could tell you what time it is by the sun's position."

"Boy, he sure told _you _off," Corporal Fredrickson laughed.

"Yeah? Well, at least _I'm_ not obsessed with dead leaders."

"C'mon, Fabian, don't you think that's gettin' a little old?" Sergeant Rourke questioned.

"Yeah, well _you_ were an ugly infection form," Dunkirk muttered to himself.

"I need a rest period," Cooper continued, throwing himself on the ground in the shade of some tall ruins.

"Did any of you manage to get any PAM?" Stanley inquired.

"Negatory," Rourke answered.

"Trust me, if'n we had, I'd be the first to know," Dunkirk added.

"_That_ I don't doubt," Stanley answered.

"Stanley, you should probably take a look at this!" Fredrickson called out. He had wandered over to a likely-looking tunnel entrance where he was holding onto a rope with a sign that read "Здесь наводнение" and had a picture of an infection form. The other soldiers quickly gathered to investigate.

"Hm……got no idea what that could mean," Rourke said with a shrug.

"It _obviously_ means something about the Flood being around here somewhere," Anderson said, adjusting his glasses.

"You know Russian?" Stanley asked.

"No, I'm just good at using my powers of observation. My host body's high-school German teacher used to drill that into her student's heads," he answered. "Besides, that's what _our_ sign said."

"Well, I guess there's only one way to find out," Stanley said, climbing over the rope.

"Beats sittin' around out in the open," Cooper shrugged as he followed after Stanley. The others found no reason to object. Patrick also managed to trip over this rope as well.

They had spent roughly twenty-five minutes of passing through tunnels, heading through stone ruins, and toggling between the terrible jokes Private Cooper cracked, the orders of Captain Anderson, and the suggestive taunts from Stanley. The atmosphere was much more warm and inviting than the harsh, cold, metal corridors in the dank swamp of Installation 04. All of the soldiers agreed that the earthy atmosphere and warm analogous tones were much more comforting and inviting.

Finally, they arrived at a massive set of metal doors with an engraving that read "Работники, Flood, Соедините" on a sturdy iron plaque. There were two sentries on duty, both were dressed in red uniforms and brandished the beams from Sentinels. They looked rather peculiar, though, not like normal combat form host bodies. They were quite a bit larger and had heads similar to those of manta rays.

"What may we help with, comrades?" the sentry to the left inquired.

"Well, we'd like entrance to your domain," Stanley answered.

The sentry studied the entourage hard. "You don't look familiar. You'd better not be rebels. We dispose of _anyone_ who would threaten our leader. Know this."

"Hey, is it true that in Soviet Russia, car drives you?" Cooper questioned.

Stanley made a motion that indicated that the Private would get slapped if he didn't shut up.

"We're not rebels, but we're not from around here, either. See, we're lost, starving refugees from the capitalistic, Nazi ring. Some human blew it up and we managed to escape. It was the perfect chance because we were so sick of living life under the harsh law and iron fists of our dictators, who were Delugians," Stanley explained. The sentry looked over Stanley's shoulder at the other soldiers. They all nodded in response.

"……Ugh, the Galactic Socialist Flood Workers Party," the guard growled.

"Capitalism _will_ die," the other chimed in.

Captain Anderson worriedly placed a hand over his armband, making sure his upper arm covered the insignia on his white tunic lapels.

"Yeah, I'm sure it will."

"That must have been terrible. Well, you are welcome here. Working class Flood must stick together," he said. With that, both guards opened the large doors. Inside laid the civilisation that the group had been questing for.

It was humungous. The first thing that they saw was a long main road which was bordered by makeshift housing crafted out of flesh. There were also many floodlights similar to the ones put in place by the Forerunners on 04.

"Boy, how far does it go on for?" Cooper inquired.

"Uh, gee, Stuart, let's think. How was it set up on the first ring?" Stanley asked.

"Well, I just thought……never mind," Cooper answered, slightly embarrassed.

"This is _soooooo_ much better than the fascist ring."

"Yep. I'munna hafta agree with you there, Stan," Dunkirk agreed.

"Are we going to have to build a log cabin like colonial British refugees? Because I really _don't_ want to do that," Cooper stated. The minor soldiers looked towards Stanley.

"Don't look at _me_. The Captain will build a log cabin for you."

"Actually, I _do_ have _one_ idea," he said. "Follow me and keep a low-profile, dammit!" he growled quietly.

The other soldiers followed him down a small slope to the main street, which was called "Floodskaya Street". Trying to be as unseen as possible, they came up to the first small house. Pressing themselves up against the side of the building with Anderson on point, they waited.

"Are we gonna be here long?" Cooper whispered.

"I have no estimate," Anderson spat, his attention pinned on the front door.

Surprisingly, they didn't have to wait too long until another combat form, similar to the ones guarding the doors, stepped outside, wearing a gray trench coat and matching fedora. The door shut behind him and stepped down onto the stone road. Anderson held up a hand, indicating for them to stay put, then drew a long, deadly combat knife out of his belt. He roughly lunged at the other Flood, covering his mouth with a gloved hand, dragging him into the alley, and quickly shanking him for a whole gory minute. The group watched with slackened jaws. He stood to full height after the ordeal, sheathing his blade and breathing heavily.

"……_That_ was your idea?!" Stanley asked frantically.

"Oh my god! Wur murderers!" Big Pat hollered.

"Ain't no 'we' in this, mate! That was all Andasin!" Dunkirk corrected.

"Hey, _you_ didn't even _have_ an idea and mine was open for objection," Anderson argued.

"Oh yeah, 'keep a low-profile', 'don't let yourself be seen'! You're just as fucking crazy as Ivan was!"

"Thank you, Captain Anderson, for finding living quarters for us," Anderson said, rolling his eyes.

"There ya go, Cooper. There's your log cabin," Dunkirk said.

"Boy, _that_ sure was something," Cooper said.

"Thank you, Private Cooper. I saw it in a movie."

"Was that movie 'Schindler's List'?" Stanley questioned.

"No one got shanked in _that_ movie. One of you help me with this body. The rest of you get inside before someone notices," Anderson ordered. Sergeant Rourke assisted him in the unceremonious dumping of the body into a trash can before they followed the others inside the house. They found that it was rather plain and rather gross, like any Flood establishment would be.

"It's like living inside of a rotting carcass," Stanley stated bluntly.

"Very homey, like grandma's," Corporal Fredrickson commented.

"It's better than Hitler's brothel," Rourke added.

"That's a good one, Rourke. May I quote you on that?" Stanley laughed.

Cooper, who had been snooping around some cupboards, opened one and was rewarded with a rush of papers.

"That guy was a serial tree killer!" Cooper commented.

"Yeah and maybe we did him a big favour," Stanley added, picking up one of the pieces. Examining it, he noticed it contained part of a well thought-out essay listing ways the government wasn't working and what a chump "Comrade" Gravemind was.

"Or maybe he's one of those 'rebels' the guards were talkin' about. We could get in a lot of trouble if they do a sweep like Ivan used to and find _us_ with all his stuff," Rourke said.

"……I wouldn't worry about it," Stanley shrugged, handing it to one of the privates who were helping straighten up.

"What do you guys wanna do now?" Stanley asked.

"Well, we were thinking about just cruisin' the town to see what we can find, see what life is like here," Fredrickson suggested.

"Yeah, that's pretty much what Pat and I were gonna do. Why don't we go our separate ways and you know, just trickle back in here whenever we get bored?" Stanley proposed.

"Sounds fine."

"Excellent."

"How 'bout you, TJ? Whutta you gonna do?" Dunkirk asked, playfully punching him on the shoulder.

"I'munna just stay here," he said, recoiling from the punch.

"Aw, c'mon. Don't be such a downer," Stanley said.

"Burnout," Fredrickson agreed.

"Baby wanna bottle? A _dirt_ bottle?" Cooper taunted.

"_When_ have I ever said that?" Anderson asked, growing all the more frustrated.

"C'mon, man! That was like your catch-phrase!"

"……He's not lying, you said that _all_ the time," Stanley said innocently. "You thought you were _so cool_, striding up and down the ranks with your broken glasses perched on the end of your nose and your breeches hiked up, screaming in everyone's face that dare defy you or the tyrants," he said dramatically. A bout of laughter arose from the group.

"Yeah, you used ta scream at _me_ _all_ the time," Big Pat said.

Anderson stalked off to his room.

"Well, if he wants to be a Depressio Danny, let him," he declared as they filed downstairs.

Stanley and Patrick were the last to step out of the house and they stood by the front portal as they glanced around the general area.

"Any preference?" Stanley asked.

"Nope, anywhere's fine," Big Pat answered.

"Alrighty then. I guess we'll go down hither," Stan said as he turned to the right.

They strolled down the street with light hearts and high hopes. Every Flood they passed greeted them with almost robotic "hellos". The streets seemed like to move like clockwork.

"Hey, Stanley? Do you think that someone will find out Anderson shivved that guy and we'll get caught by the mafia or something?"

"Psh, this isn't the mafia. This ring is Stalinist-Communist. Underdog Floods like you and I are the power here. Everything's owned by the people, your job is your best friend, and Karl Marx would be rolling over in his grave if he knew about this."

"Wull yeah, but—"

"—Patrick, Patrick, Patrick……why do you always have to be such a pessimist? You're always looking at the dark side of a situation. You need to be more like me and not care," Stanley suggested, right before he ran smack into an ex-human form who had been patrolling the same street. He was wearing an olive-drab uniform, a fur hat, and was heavily armed.

"Where do you sink you are go-ink, leet-tul min?" he asked, whipping out a shotgun, a Flood's worst enemy.

"Oh baby," Stanley said nervously, his good eye widening as Big Pat did his best to hide behind him. Everyone on the streets ignored the whole scene and continued about their business. Skirmishes like this were so vast in numbers that everyone was used to it by now.

"Where you two go-ink? To work, yis?" the soldier said with a stern and forceful tone.

"Um, yes, yeah we were going-going to work, yes."

"Or maybe, you go-ink to secret undergrount meetink?"

"Actually, no, we were—"

"—You know what we do to conspirers ent spies?"

"Okay, Mister big, scary, Bolshevik guar—"

"—Floodshevik, _Floodshevik_!" he growled, pounding on his chest with a large fist.

"Yes, yes! Floodshevik, sorry. We're not conspirers or spies, we love the Gravemind. See, we escaped the harsh, unfair, capitalistic—"

"_Kipitalism_……" the guard growled with heavy scorn.

"Yeah, and we—"

The imposing officer held up a hand in the universal "stop talking" gesture and gave Stanley a thorough look over. "……You are army min?"

"Against my will, yes."

"……Interestink. Very interestink, indeed. We hiv high amount of respict for soldier. Many apologise for my meestake. I thought you were conspirink against Comrade Gravemind. We hiv no tolerance for change in government."

"That's why you built the wall, yis?" Stanley said.

"Yis. Continue to combit trainink. We need soldier soon," he sneered as he shouldered his shotgun and continued down the street. Taking a better look at the city, they noticed many more of the imposing olive-coated sentries.

"Sheesh, this is almost as bad as the Schützstaffeln, except these guys won't try to rape you. They'll just kill you," Stanley said.

"I hope this doesn't turn out to be like another Ivan and Jared ring," Big Pat explained.

"Yeah……me either."


	3. Chapter 3: If the Kids Are United

**Chapter III: If the Kids Are United**

**Nineteenth Cycle, 38 Units (Officer Riley 'Bodensee)/**

**(How come Gilligan can make radios out of coconuts but he can't build a boat?)**

About twenty minutes before the underground show, Riley got ready for his night out.

"Hey, Aunt Gladjs?"

"Yes, Riley?"

"I'munna go a little early, okay?"

"Alright, then. And remember, just because some reject brags about his beliefs doesn't mean you have to listen to him," he reminded Riley.

"Bye, Aunt Gladjs," Riley sighed with desperation, and the front door shut behind him. He jumped off of the stoop and headed down the street. It was nightfall now and the plasma streetlights emitted an eerie glow of blue-white. The large Forerunner ship in the very center of the city also gave off exorbitant amounts of light. He hadn't gone far when he began to wonder what became of his friends.

"Hm……I'm pretty sure they all came directly from their home planets, so—" Riley hadn't said anymore to himself when he heard a loud bang pour forth from a small alley. Startled, he saw his cockney friend Hanjk emerge from a rubbish neutraliser.

"Evenin', govna!" he exclaimed jovially as he removed his black newsies cap and bowed to Riley.

"Hanjk! _Don't_ do that! You're gonna give me a heart attack, or two, or three," Riley said, a hand over his chest.

"Ahm sorry, mate. Jus' a lit-el bit 'a dumpsta divin' is all. I haven't eaten since yestaday 'n ya neva know what sorta vit-els them trash bins miss," he explained innocently.

"_Ew_! You're eating out of the _garbage_?"

"What else do ya won't me ta do? Ahm not wonted in these parts 'n I already tried beggin'."

"Oh, so I take it you weren't born in High Charity?"

"'Eavens, no! 'Chyoo fink a scut loike me been hatched in a ritzy city?"

"Oh, well, I'd invite you to stay with me, but……my uncles have a bias against you guys. Nothing personal, mate."

"No, no, no, I undastand perfectly. I've 'ad ta deal wi' this all me loife," Hanjk said merrily.

"Well, I'm glad you're taking this all so well."

"Eh, loife's no fun when ya sittin' 'round dwellin' on wot ya don't 'ave 'en wot ya do."

"What's it like on your home world?"

"Eh, pretty much the same as 'ih is on this'n. But evryone's poor back 'ome. Thass why so many of us is pirates."

"Ah. So, I'm goin' to a filthcore concert, would you care to join me?"

"Filthcore? Inn' that tha kinda music what they frow each otha 'round?"

"Uh, I don't know……" answered Riley, worried.

"Well, I gots nothin' betta ta do. Sure! 'Ow fah 'zit?" Hanjk inquired.

"Just in town here, not too far," Riley answered.

The streets were empty like the usually were, save for the select few who normally prowled around at night. A curfew had been established for everyone and those who were on the streets at night were thoroughly questioned, searched, or arrested, depending on how late it was and in what mood the sentries were in. This had been in place ever since the rise of witchery.

"So, how are you enjoying the city?"

"Is' clean," Hanjk answered.

"What do you mean by that?" Riley inquired, partially afraid of the answer he was going to receive.

"You loike old 'uman movies 'n 'istry……ya eva seen some o' them pitchas of dir'ee, grimy, smog-filled sih-ees from old ages?" he inquired.

"……I guess I have," Riley answered uneasily.

"Imagine one 'a those, but spread out ova an entiyah planit 'n a small one at that."

Riley shuddered, trying not to imagine what that would be like. He had been accustomed to a sanitary, spotless lifestyle although he didn't have much money. He dismissed the thought as best he could when they came upon another Elite who was squatting with his back pressed against the wall of a wide structure. Pongo looked up at Riley and smiled, removing the cigarette from his mouth.

"What gives, sang? You're early," he said.

"I s'ppose, but I didn't want to be late and annoy you," Riley said with a laugh.

"That wouldn't annoy me. Pious, religious, douche bags annoy me. I kinda thought you wouldn't come, though."

"Oh? Why?"

"Because……I don't know. I know you don't like filthcore, but it means a lot to me that you showed."

"Hey, any time, Pongo. I brought my friend Hanjk along too, is that okay?"

"It's more than okay. We encourage all races of the Covenant to come. No one is biased."

"That's cool. You can't imagine how many Sangheili I know that be hatin'," Riley answered, rolling his eyes in disgust.

"I know, right? They're all whiny little shits. So, what are we waitin' around for? Let's go," he said, tossing his cigarette butt on the street and leading them further down the street.

"Uh, Pongo? Where are we going? I thought it was in this building?" Riley asked.

"Nope. That's just the decoy. I'm takin' you to the _real_ joint," he said.

They had walked for a few minutes before Pongo made a sharp right into an alley. It was dark, cramped, and generally uncomfortable. The only source of illunimation was coming from a thin red light at the top of what Riley assumed to be a door. Pongo approached it, touched a series of numbers on a panel, and it slid open.

"Hurry up now. _No one_ can know about this or see what we're doing. People around here just think this is an old door into the war plant that was shut down," he instructed. Both Riley and Hanjk entered with Pongo immediately after them. They were faced with a staircase that led down and was lit with poorly fashioned hanging lights from the ceiling. The staircase wasn't too long and they reached a long, rust and flak streaked, dented tunnel at the end. On either wall, posters from previous bands, signs warning of propaganda and disorder, and others just proclaiming things like "The Prophets are _wrong_!" and "Don't let them brainwash you!" The faint sound of fast music could be heard more clearly as they neared the end.

"I've never been to a filthcore concert, what's it like?" Riley commented.

"Oh, you'll see, _you'll see_," Pongo said. They reached another automatic door and it opened for them as soon as they reached it. Riley and Hanjk were overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the music that was being played. To the far left and pressed up against the wall was the stage, where a crew of one Elite, one Grunt, and two Jackals were setting up mic stands and instruments. The music was obviously coming from an intercom. The place was pretty busy, about eighty percent of the group being Sangheili and the other twenty percent being Unggoy. He also noticed only the two Jackals setting up, aside from Hanjk. The room was veiled with smoke and smelled like cigarettes and grass, urine, and basement. Looking to the floor, there were empty or broken bottles scattered all over accompanied by various other fluids of unknown origin. All of the Elites looked similar to Pongo, some with different armour colour and different band logos or sayings painted on the same leather and chain mail. Some of the armour, Riley noticed, looked different from the kind he wore; a variety of different colours with four long fins protruding from the back plate and the absence of a helmet. The ones that still wore his kind were painted, studded, or otherwise trashed in creative ways. The Jackals present all had their crests coloured. _Creative and unique_, _yet odd and unsettling_, Riley thought.

"Wow, this is……different," Riley said with a nod.

"Welcome to the Underground, Riley. Let this be the day you open your eyes," Pongo said as he roughly patted Riley on the shoulder and approached the stage. "I need to help set up and shit. I'll catch you later after the show." With that, he jumped up on the stage and disappeared.

"Well now, wasn't _'ee_ friendly?" Hanjk said.

"Pongo's a nice guy. He's drunk or baked most of the time, but he means well," Riley advised.

"Roight," Hanjk took in a deep breath of air and let it out with a long sigh. "Smells loike the street down from mine back 'ome!" he said nostalgically.

"Okay, you're _really_ starting to gross me out with all of this home world talk," Riley stated.

"Oh, Riley, yore sucha holy sih'ee lad," Hanjk said, making for the bar.

"……What's _that_ supposed to mean?!" Riley called out in a frustrated valley-girl tone.

No sooner had they both received two bottles of TerroriZOR, the other Elites in the room began shouting obscenities and other rebellious calls as Pongo and his band appeared on the stage. Pongo was at the lead mic, there was another Elite with a guitar, a Jackal with a bass, and yet another Elite on drums. Pongo finished off his TerroriZOR and grabbed the microphone.

"Alright……we're 'A//Prophet//E'. We're really glad that you all could make it here tonight, let's just hope that the night patrol doesn't hear us," he announced. One Elite somewhere yelled, "Fuck the pigs!"

"This is what we think of the Prophets and their fuckin' Covenant!" Pongo shouted at the top of his lungs as the Elite hit a power chord poorly and was rewarded with some hideous feedback.

"Wanna get closer?" Riley asked Hanjk.

"Sure!" Hanjk said jovially. They were just about to move, when Pongo began shouting into the mic so loudly and incoherently, you could barely make out what he was saying. The whole room of Elites began jumping around, slamming into one another, and headbanging.

"……On second thought, I can see perfectly from here," Riley said, taking a huge step back to his previous spot. He didn't understand the music, but all of the Covenant in the room were surely driven by it and they all looked like they were both having the time of their lives and passionate about what they were doing. Riley mouthed "would you like another?" as he tapped his empty bottle. Hanjk nodded vigourously and downed the last bit of his.

Pongo's band "A//Profit//E" played a total of four songs. Riley thought they all sounded highly similar, but the local Elites hollered when they were finished. It could have also been the fact that he already had two beers.

The next band was composed of two Jackals, one of which was the lead singer this time, a Grunt, and an Elite. They called themselves "The Anal Probes". Their instruments were easier to hear and they sounded like they knew a lot more than the previous band, even if the Jackal's voice was screechy and obnoxious, in an endearing sort of way.

Riley noticed that more and more "filthcore" Covenant had started to trickle in the small venue.

"'Ow many bands 'chyoo said are gonna be playin', agen?" Hanjk inquired.

"Oh, like……I don't know. I think Pongo said like nine or ten," Riley answered. "The Anal Probes" stopped playing and began packing up as Riley tapped an Elite in red, ornately decorated armour standing in front of him on the shoulder.

"Huh? Wha?" he asked, spitting on the floor.

"Um, hi. Do you know how many bands are here tonight?"

"Why? You're not thinkin' about leavin', are ya? Sesa 'Blasfemeee's band is gonna play tonight!" he said excitedly. "There's a few more groups before him, seven more but, I think they're only playin' like three songs."

"No, I wouldn't miss it for the world," Riley half-lied. "But thanks a lot for clearing that up," he concluded with a smile.

"No prob," the other Elite answered, turning his attention back to the stage.

The other bands consisted of similar looking Covenant soldiers who called themselves "Hierarch Death", "Lost Clan Rising", "The Ninth Age of Disorder", "Liars//Leaders", "The Maw", and "Anti?". Riley and Hanjk both agreed that they all sounded the same with only subtle variations on vocals.

The final opener band was called "Plasmafuck" and was made up of entirely Sangheili. There were five from five different ranks. Not surprisingly, they sounded similar to the other bands, but their musicians were much better. Riley thought that the guitarists were amazing. He liked _them_ best of all. The bassist even gave him a button after Riley complimented him when they were through.

Feeling a migraine or prominent symptoms of too much alcohol coming on, Riley was about to leave, when a roar so loud rang out in the crowded venue that it would have overpowered an entire armada of Covenant warships. Turning his attention back to the stage, he noticed an Elite dressed in an attire of red, orange, and black enter from stage right. He was carrying a mic stand and looked thoroughly bored, drunk, or both, it was hard to tell from his spot in the back. He wore armour different from the REBELution kind and was probably the most ornately decorated one in the entire place. His back-plate was brandished with an impressive and overly exaggerated caricature of the Prophets that read "Your 'Prophets' Are WRONG!" A leather battle harness was fastened across his chest and the Elite had written "Dooms Day?!" on it. Unfamiliar and illegible band logos graced the tattered red and orange armour and was accompanied by a belt with rounds of primitive human bullets which hung around his hips. A large patch with his band's name covered his groin area. There was a long blue plaid one covering his rear. Riley also noticed he had two matching gauntlets with needler shards studding the sides and a red mohawk.

"You see that right there?" the Elite he had previously spoke with said as he placed an arm around him and pointed in the direction of the accessorised Elite.

"Who, Sesa?" Riley asked.

"Yeah! That right there….. is god."

"I'm not sure I—"

"—_He's_ going to lead us into a better world, one that _isn't_ run by shit-talking Prophets and blind follower yuppies. _He's_ what everyone _really_ came here for. Sesa's been holding these underground shows for a few lapses now and he hasn't even been caught yet," the Elite said dramatically.

"Um, one question. Why does he have a mohawk? Sangheilis don't have hair," Riley said in a "silly rabbit" kind of tone.

"Psh, it's _real_, sanghole! Someone tried to tell me that when he was playing a show, it fell off and it's only a wig, but he was a sanghole, he didn't know what he was talking about. He was just a stupid drunk," the other Elite said, cracking himself a beer.

Sesa 'Blasfemeee returned shortly after, carrying a long guitar case. He set it down on the stage floor and dropped to one knee. He barely paid any attention to the hordes of shouting Covenant. A Jackal with a radioactive green crest approached the renegade Elite. They exchanged words briefly and the Jackal bounded off the way he came in. Another Elite toating a case similar to Sesa's entered next. Sesa finally pulled out his guitar and draped the strap over his head and onto his shoulder. He took two strides over to his huge boxlike amplifier, plugged it in, and screeched his pick down the first two strings. That got everyone's attention. Then, he proceeded to play a ten second solo that could have put Halo back together. It sent chills up Riley's spine as the crowd went bonkers. The Jackal ran back on stage and took his seat behind the drum set.

"……Whoa……" Riley said, eyes fixed on the stage. "Didju hear _that_?" he asked with a laugh as he addressed Hanjk.

"Lads got quite a bit 'a talent, 'ee does!" the Jackal answered.

What happened next was even more astounding than the Elite's instrumental skills. A soldier similar to the one the Covenant referred to as "the Daemon" stepped onto the stage. He looked exactly like the guy he called "Dave", the one he met on the first Halo ring, only this one's armour was an off-yellow instead of green. He was also covered in painted-on band logos. The cyborg-like human soldier hastily yanked out a bass guitar from its case, which was tossed aside with little care. Plugging himself in, he chugged out a few licks, maneuvering rather easily despite his bulky MJOLNIR armour.

"OhmyProphets! That guy looks _just like_ Dave!" Riley said to Hanjk.

"Huh. Come ta think on it, ya right!"

"But-but what's he doing here? I thought the Prophets said Dave was the last of their kind and—"

"—Aaron Cyborg is _so_ rad," the Elite Riley had been conversing with said over his shoulder. "_And_ he's a human in a Covenant band, which makes it all the more unifying."

"But, I thought—"

"—The Prophets probably lied about _that_ _too_," he said, turning his attention back to the stage.

Riley sat staring for a moment. "……That's messed up," he said at last.

Sesa 'Blasfemeee pulled the mic up higher and slung his guitar out of the way.

"Um, first of all, I wanna thank you for coming here tonight. I just hope the fuckin' night sentries didn't give ya too much shit," he said. The crowd laughed. "This is directed to the new brothers but, in case you didn't know, we're 'Grow Heresy' and wur gonna educate you about the fuckin' 'Prophets' and how they're all a bunch 'a fuckin' pious fucks. Teach, don't preach."

There wasn't too much emotion in his voice and it was fairly deep and easy to hear. The crowd roared in agreement.

"I'm sure you're all aware of the fuckin' 'Great Journey' shit that they've been spewing out. Wull, _I _happen to know that they are fuckin' fulla shit. All 'a that is a waste of fuckin' time. The Prophet's are _wrong_, my brothers! They will use the faith of our forefathers to bring ruin to us all! They're gonna use that as an excuse to _get all of us fuckin' killed_!" His voice was building now and Riley could tell he was getting really into his speech. He paused and the venue hollered and clapped in response. "Open your eyes, my brothers……open them while the others keep them closed!" He slid his pick down the guitar strings and began playing a fast riff. "You'll see! When the fuckin' oceans part and the fuckin' seeds of chaos bloom into flowers of change, the fuckin' 'REBELution' will come and you'll wish your government never made you!" he shouted at the top of his lungs and continued to play an extremely fast song in which the other musicians followed suit. "Fuck Julia Child," he added. A variety of catcalls echoed in response.

Unlike the majority of the bands there that night, "Grow Heresy" we're more talented and the members were skilled at their instruments. The first song was called "Prophet of Greed" which was pretty self explanatory. Riley chuckled at the thought of the conniptions his clan would go into if they were hearing all of this. He also realised just how much trouble Sesa would be if he ever got caught. Impressed with his fellow musicians, he promptly purchased their album from the merch Elite in the corner. He slipped the music chip into his battle harness.

The next song was titled "Solar Winds of Change". They were well into it and Sesa had just begun another hell-raising solo, when the door to the venue was blown off of its belt. All the music stopped and the circle-pit had ceased. A squad of Special Operatives Elites backed by three Brutes stormed into the room.

"Sesa 'Refumeee! You are under arrest for witchery and crimes against the Covenant! _You are all_ under arrest for defying the holy ones!" an Elite in white armour bellowed as he raised his energy blade. Every Elite and Grunt in the underground brought forth bottles in further defiance. No weapons had been allowed in the venue.

"Don't let them grind you down, my brothers! Take heed!" Sesa 'Refumeee shouted as he and his band got the hell out of there as fast as they could, exiting through a back door. The Covenant in the room engaged in a full-out bar fight. Riley and Hanjk ducked as a bottle whizzed over their heads and shattered against a wall.

"_Let's get the heck outta here_!" Riley screamed as he grabbed Hanjk and they made for the same door "Grow Heresy" ran out of.

Bursting from the stale-aired underground venue, the two bolted out of a tunnel similar to the one they had entered from and looked around. A hovercraft that looked like a Shadow sped down the street and turned sharply around a corner.

"Well, this 'as been a very interestin' evenin' 'n I appreciate tha invitation, but uh……gotta run!" Hanjk concluded quickly as he took off down the opposite street.

"Wait, Hanjk! Don't leave me here……_alone_," Riley whined. He turned around and viewed his surroundings. Now that he was basically on the lam, the outer regions of the holy city looked all the more terrifying. He started down the street, keeping to himself, his arms folded across his chest. He couldn't hear the riots or smashing glass from his position outside, so he wondered how the Special Ops were able to find them. He figured some stoolie in the group had sung for the Prophets.

_Maybe they didn't notice me, maybe I can get out of this one safely_, he thought to himself as he rounded a corner slowly. After all, the place was packed with rebels and there was barely enough room to move. Trying to look on the bright side as much as he could, he saw the luminous streetlights that stood in front of the alien housing on his street. _Oh, thank the Forerunners_, he thought to himself as he sighed. He hurried down the street as quietly as he could, his armour making a muffled scraping, clanking noise. Riley was still silently praising the Forerunners when he reached his own home. Coming to a complete halt, he noticed four black-armoured Elites standing on his front stoop, his horror-stricken family at the front door. All of the Special Ops soldiers looked up at the sound of Riley's boots as he stopped. They fancied him with aggressive glares as two of them advanced on him slowly. Riley gulped, his ample Adam's apple bobbing slightly. One of the SpecOps jabbed at his back with the tip of a carbine. He became even more petrified when he realised that he still had the "Grow Heresy" album on his person. Riley pleaded with whatever deities were listening that they not search him or find it.

"Walk," the Officer demanded. Riley gently walked up the stoop, past the astonished, disappointed, and frightened looks of his relatives. No one said anything as Riley favoured them with an imploring stare. He was directed into the kitchen and roughly shoved down into a chair. SpecOps officers surrounded him threateningly as his relatives hung their heads with shame.

"Officer Riley 'Bodensee, have you any idea why we are here tonight?" the obvious head of the group asked, stepping in front of him.

"……Sort of," he answered quietly.

"We are going to need you to answer a few questions," he said, narrowing his dark eyes.

Riley swallowed hard. "Like on 'Jeopardy'?" he asked hopefully, thinking for some reason that some humour would brighten the dark mood.

"Yes, but if you answer wrong, you will be hung by your entrails and your corpse paraded through the city streets," he answered smoothly. "And_ that_ is directly from the council's mouth. Now……you are currently enlisted in the Covenant military, correct?"

"Yes, Excellency."

"Good. And you assume the role of minor officer?"

"Yes, Boss."

"Do you believe that the Prophets are our holy leaders and have brought us together for one cause, and a righteous one at that?"

Riley didn't say anything. He looked up to his relatives. Uncle Chuckspa glared at him and nodded slowly.

"……Yes, Boss," Riley then answered, staring at the floor. "May the Forerunners be praised and the Prophets truly blessed."

"You _will_ address me as 'Excellency' for _I am indeed_ your superior," the leader grunted. "Are you familiar with a Sangheili by the name of Sesa 'Refumee? Perhaps taking the pseudonym Sesa 'Blasfemeee?"

"……I've heard _of_ him."

"Have you ever met with him formally?"

"……No, sir. Like, I've-I've said 'hi' to him once or twice, b-but I couldn't tell you what his favourite colour is or-or who his favourite band is." This was partially a lie. He had worked with Sesa before in combat training until he was chosen to help lead a Covenant construction team on the gas giant Threshold instead of being sent to the infantry. They did, however, never really hit it off as friends.

The leader glared at him even harder, as if trying to penetrate his skull. Riley sat back a little, trying to escape the icy cold eyes of the SpecOps Officer.

"……B-But this was all back w-when we were in combat training. Roughly six ages ago."

The Officer nodded. "Now tell me, Riley, are you _active_ in the so called 'REBELution' headed by this witch?" he questioned further.

Riley was extremely nervous now. "Uh……n-no, Excellency. I don't know anything about a movement against our religion and way of life."

"_And_ were you attending an assembly filled with propaganda sermons hosted by said witch?" he pressed on, growing firmer and more impatient. He knew Riley must have been lying about _something_ and was determined to get answers.

Riley looked back at his relatives for help. Śzerman still refused to look Riley straight in the eye while Aunt Gladjs and Uncle Chuckspa gave him iron-hard glares. Chuckspa mouthed the words "tell him" and nodded. Riley lowered his head and stared at the floor.

"……If I may, Excellency, it wasn't a propaganda assembly. It was a filthcore concert with a bunch of different bands."

"Did these 'bands' talk ill of the holy ones or our faith?" the irate Special Ops Officer inquired.

There was no fighting it now. "……Yes, Excellency. All of them support 'Refumeee and his rebellion against the holy ones."

The Special Operative Officer nodded and eased off of Riley somewhat. Standing up to his full height once more, he cleared his throat and turned to the rest of the 'Bodensee family members. "Were any of you aware of your nephew's activities?"

"No, sir. He said he was going to a concert, but he never mentioned it was organised by a sinner," Chuckspa spoke up.

He turned back to Riley. "Hm……'Bodensee, am I right? Then, that would make you—" the warrior began, but cut himself off as he looked Riley up and down.

"……No……no, I must be mad. No son of _his_ would become a witch. Listen to me carefully……if you will be so kind as to cooperate as nicely as you have been and give me some of the names of the other Sangheili that have attended this gathering, I promise you will be questioned no further," he explained.

"But I-I didn't know any of the Sangheili that were there," Riley said. "I've already told you, I'm not familiar with these kinds of things and only went to support my friend who was in one of the bands! He's an aspiring musician and—"

"—Then I hope he reaches his goal with haste, because he will be an aspiring _dead_ musician after tomorrow," the Officer growled.

"If I may, Excellency—" Riley began to protest.

"—Shut your jaws!" the Officer barked.

"Excuse me!" Uncle Śzerm said, finally breaking his silence and stepping up to the Officer. "You said this would be quick and if he cooperated, there would be no harm done. HeHHe has been doing an exceptional job of answering your questionnaire as best he can and he has not been any trouble."

"It does not matter! If this young Sangheili is convicted of witchery, then he will be—"

"—But I'm no witch! I don't listen to filthy bands and I don't think that mohawks look good on the Sangheili!" Riley said aloud. "We don't even _have_ hair!"

"Hair? Then that makes him an even _bigger _witch."

"He is merely distraught and confused from years of war and bloodshed! He is only performing his duty as a Sangheili and he begs for repentance and forgiveness from the holy hierarchs," he said as he looked to Riley. "This is true, correct?"

"……Absolutely," he answered, realising that Śzerman was doing his best to help bail him out. "I didn't mean to break any laws or upset anyone in power."

"……Very well," the Officer said at last. "You are not under arrest, however……you are to show up in the early morning in front of the Council of Particular Worth, beg for forgiveness from the Prophets, plead your case to the councilors, and identify other sinners. You are to be on time at _exactly_ the seventh cycle, if you are late then the next time you sleep will be nine feet under the cold, unforgiving ground. _Do I make myself entirely clear_?"

Riley nodded his head vigourously.

"Say 'yes, Officer 'Ludomee.'"

"Yes, Officer 'Ludomee," Riley repeated.

"Now say it in our native tongue."

"Tak'k, Recifo 'Ludomee."

"……Northerners," he grunted in displeasure at Riley's accent. Riley's family favoured the Officer with intense scorn upon hearing his slander. The Officer nodded to the other family members and led his troops out of the house. Uncle Śzerm made sure the door shut behind them and pressed a series of keys for the auto-lock.

"Rotten cur. He's probably from the south," Chuckspa spat. On Sangheilios, everybody hated each other. The most common insults were cardinal direction bashings. The Sangheili from the north, south, east, and west all believed their regions produced the most superior warriors.

Riley slowly emerged from the kitchen and approached him gently, reaching out for the side of his neck, a sign of affection or kinship.

"……Uncle Śzerm?" he asked quietly. Śzerm slapped his hand away and turned around to face his nephew, an utterly displeased look about his features. His uncle was angry often, but Riley had never seen Śzerman _this_ angry and it was highly alarming. The young Sangheili retracted his hand and cowered a little.

"We must talk," he said firmly, his features unwavering. Riley had started to protest, when Śzerm pointed to the small staircase. "To your room……_now_," he demanded.

Riley hurried upstairs and to his room where he took a seat on his bed. Śzerm arrived a minute or so later, seeing as it took him extra time to get upstairs with his leg. He heard his uncle briskly and angrily refuse assistance from Gladjs. He limped into his room and the door shut automatically.

"……_Why_ did a group of Special Operative warriors come to this house tonight?" he asked coldly.

Riley merely lowered his head in shame.

"_Riley_," Śzerman pressed on, now speaking only in the Sangheili language. "I demand answers."

He looked up at his uncle and tried to say something, but he couldn't get out any of his words.

"What is this, Riley?" he asked, gesturing at some Forerunner symbols that had been engraved into his armour and glowed slightly.

"……A Forerunner blessing," he answered softly.

"And this?" he pointed to another series of glyphs on his back.

"The Oath of the Covenant."

"Correct. And what of _this_?" he asked, exposing a huge scar carved at the base of his neck which looked like a circle with several lines protruding from the center outward with two longer ones at the top.

"……'Aj Ejad Jejom Y'Zsud od Wönap'……the highest form of devotion," Riley said, sounding on the verge of tears. Not many Sangheili warriors received this marking due to the intense physical pain one had to go through to get it. Like tattoos on steroids.

"Exactly. As you can see, I am very devout in our religion and I am not afraid to display it, as every Sangheili should be. When a member of _my own clan_ is so ignorant as to question our faith and challenges the wise and holy leaders of our society, you can bet that it makes me very, very unhappy. I find your actions to be highly offensive."

His nephew gave no answer.

"Why did you attend a blasphemous assembly like that? I should have _expected_ this from the way you spoke to us about your feelings on the Holy Prophets earlier," he said, frustrated. "Do you hate me? Have I treated you unfairly? Explain to me what I did in order to receive a nephew who is a _witch_."

"I told you already! I didn't know that it was going to be a sermon of REBELution! My friend left out that little detail! He said it was going to be a _concert_! He didn't mention any witchery, rebellion, or anti-Prophet sermons!" Riley explained as tears began sliding down his face. He immediately held his four jaws together, staring at his relative in shock at the volume of his own voice. Raising your voice to, striking, or disrespecting your elders in Sangheili culture was one of the worst things you could do, something Riley momentarily forgot.

Uncle Śzerman scowled at Riley from behind his glasses. "……Remove your glasses."

The young Sangheili, petrified, shakily reached up and pulled them off. He knew what was coming, this wasn't the first time he had misbehaved. His uncle growled, pulled back, and cracked his nephew across the face with the back of his hand. Riley stumbled, grabbing the edge of his bedside table to steady himself. The whole half of his face stung like mad and two of his jaws numbed up as they slackened. Uncle Śzerman, Uncle Chuckspa, and Uncle Tyrna hit the hardest out of all of his family members and he had been hit at least four times by each of his clan members.

"You are an adult! How _dare_ you speak to your elder in such a way?"

"……I apologise for my actions, Uncle Śzerman. But it's just that-that you guys won't believe me. You've known me and taken care of me all my life, _you know_ I would _never_ lie to _any_ of you," he expressed with difficulty, due to his injury.

"……You were one of my favourite young warriors back when we lived in Keep 'Bodens," he said, speaking English again. "You are an honest Sangheili, you always have been. I know you are telling the truth, but I cannot forgive you for the shame you have brought our clan throughout the years. Interest in the human culture, refusal of training, and now this? You have brought ample dishonour upon the 'Bodens name. If only you knew of the things I do to try and clear our clan's shame. The path ahead of you will be long and uncomfortable when it becomes _your_ turn to bear the chain you are forging."

Riley was silent for a moment, taking in his uncle's words. He remembered the things Sesa 'Blasfemeee had said and was now contemplating witchery. It sounded better than the constant shroud of shame and hatred the Sangheili were constantly trying to avoid. The Covenant was such a devout, anal, unforgiving pact and Riley desperately wanted to break its chains.

"Having said this, I bid you Conarböd, Riley," Śzerman bid him goodnight.

"Conarböd, Uncle Śzerman," Riley answered as he de-activated his personal shield system.

"Riley, one last thing. Remember where you come from. Remember that you are a Sangheili, the most feared race in the galaxy. _Never_ forget your forefathers, your brethren, your duty, and our traditions."

Riley watched the door for a second and finished removing his armour for the night. He piled it on a chair by his computer and crawled into bed. It felt so much better being in his own bed for a change, some place he hadn't been for years. It felt so much better to be home. The hover-cots they were issued in barracks crowded with other soldiers were hard and miserable.

The soldiering life was hard and miserable. Why the Sangheili enjoyed it so much was beyond him.

Sighing deeply, he turned over on his back and massaged his swollen jaws.

"Gimme something soothing to listen to, Marty," he said.

"You got it, Riley," it answered, automatically playing "Pennsylvania 6-5000", the Glenn Miller version. Not some garbage knockoff in which they play it completely out of the original time signature. That's the worst.

"Good choice," Riley said with a smile.

"Thought you'd go for that. G'night, Riley," it said as the screen dulled to black.

"Good night, Marty," he answered.

He turned over and looked at his clock. It read a series of glyphs that translated to 1:30 am.

When the song was over, he remembered the "Grow Heresy" album he bought at the show. Removing it from his harness, he turned it over in his hand once or twice and then loaded it into the small, fist-sized music module by his clock. A holo of the band logo and the album art shone over it as the first song began playing. Riley set the volumn at a very low level so no one would hear but him. The young Sangheili watched the cover art for most of the album's duration. It was an image, black and white, realistic, and modified, of the Prophet of Truth triumphantly holding out the heads of three Sangheili tied together while clutching a banner with Forerunner hieroglyphics in the other hand. The words "Dogmatic Alien Genocide" sat in bold lettering underneath the image. He hoped what Sesa had said and what their album taught would never come true, however, the way things seemed in High Charity, this wasn't such an outlandish theory. The last song disturbed him the most. It was a combination of a recent speech the Prophet of Regret gave and a voice that sounded like the radio from the first Halo trading off. While the Hierarch spoke of paradise, victory, and the Journey, the radio spoke of mass murder, faith's blinders, and hinted at "the mistakes of the Forerunners".

When all the songs were finished, Riley sighed deeply again, removed his glasses, and set them on his bedside table. Pulling the comforter over his shoulder, he nestled into his pillow and tried to fall asleep.

Being spared the savagery of a war-themed nightmare, Riley was awakened by the sound of bagpipes early in the morning, which caused him to jump a mile and fall out of his bed.

Cormack McMorty 'Mackee was an eccentric Elite. He belonged to the Special Operatives Corps and believed fully and whole-heartedly that he was from the Scottish Highlands. For one reason or another, he wore a red plaid kilt complete with sporran every day, talked with the mouth of an angry Scotsman, and played his bagpipes every morning at the sixth cycle exactly, no matter where he was. Riley had heard him once or twice on Halo and a dozen times in the city. Right in the middle of his song, poor Cormack would get violently shut down or verbally assaulted by everyone within a 3 kilometer radius. Quick to quarrel and hot-blooded, the Highland Elite would eagerly throw down his instrument and argue back with everyone ten times louder and with ten times the brutality. In the end, he'd be sitting on the rooftops arguing with himself because no one bothered to stick around that long.

"Riley, awaken. Lest you forget your appointment with the council this morning," Uncle Śzerm said, opening his door and poking his head in.

He sat up, looking around in a delirious manner. Śzerm was a bit startled by this, but immediately found sympathy for his nephew.

"A nightmare?" he inquired.

Riley nodded vigourously. "Kinda, but it was also because 'Scotland the Brave' startled me. I don't know why because I'm never on the battle—"

Śzerm looked at him with puzzlement.

"……I'm—never—on—the—having—of—battle nightmares, because I'm so brave, you know……on the battlefield……where they have battles," Riley saved himself as he nodded innocently.

"Well……are you alright?"

"Oh yeah, yeah, I'll be fine," Riley said with his signature laugh.

"Good. Now, put your armour on, get washed up, and meet me downstairs. Uncle Chuckspa is awake as well," he said as he patted Riley on the back and exited the room.

Unfortunately for everyone, Uncle Śzerm was a severe morning Sangheili. The same could not be said for Uncle Chuckspa. However, even the lure of another restful morning, and afternoon, wasn't enough as he dwelled more on the thought of his pitiful nephew facing a brace of ruthless, cutthroat council members. He sat at the kitchen table, reviewing the tiny newspanel that scrolled useless local information in front of him. Śzerm lowered himself into a chair across from him.

"S'ee gettin' up?" he asked dully, taking another drink from his mug of a potent, coffee-like beverage that the Sangheili enjoyed.

"He was suffering from a post-traumatic nightmare."

"Post-traumatic? Riley?"

"When I woke him, he seemed pretty startled and he told me he _was indeed_ having a nightmare."

Chuckspa grunted with distaste. "That kid has no idea what _real_ combat looks like, what it _feels_ like."

Uncle Śzerm stared at his brother-in-law. "How can you speak so lowly of a fellow clansmen's fighting prowess? You do not know what he has seen. You are not with him on the frontline. Such is the worst insult."

"Śzerman, let's think. We fought when the war was at its peak, when the humans first became the enemy. _You_ were a Special Operatives soldier—"

"—_Am_ a Special Operatives soldier."

"Fine, _are_. I was a _major_ in this war. _I_ was one of the lucky ones who made it out alive. Now, you _were_ out on fatal and suicidal missions every other day, but _you_ weren't on the frontline barking orders, _you_ weren't dodging primitive projectiles, and _you_ _weren't_ fire-fighting juggernaut daemon soldiers. Tell me, Śzerman, are you familiar with the scent of blood?"

"_I_ was an assassin for the holy ones, Chuckspa."

"Then you know _exactly_ what I'm talking about." Chuckspa was advancing on the other Elite, inching closer to him with each new gory detail. "But how about spending every single night standing on guard, twitching at every single snapping twig, and your hand glued to a rifle's trigger. Watching, waiting, and possibly anticipating someone to sneak up behind you and clip the back of your neck, freeing you from the hellhole of waiting and watching with a heartbeat a hundred units faster than normal……but it gets better. How about trudging over barren terrain or deciduous, Prophet-forsaken lands stained with the blood of the Sangheili who fell before you, watching hopelessly and horror-stricken as your brothers get their limbs blown off, have their entrails ripped out by those damned human metal slugs, and their blood spilled from every opening you can imagine, listening to them cry and scream in complete agony as the medics give them medication only to kill them faster. Because there's nothing you can do when a full-metal assault is bearing down on your sorry platoon……nothing."

Uncle Śzerman refused to stare into Chuckspa's thoroughly enraged and discontented eyes. He didn't want to enter a physical quarrel with him, especially when he was handicapped.

"And the best part is, you get to see it every day for the rest of your miserable life," he concluded, taking his seat again. "_Now_ you can talk to me about post-trauma and nightmares seeing as you understand."

"……I doubt that the humans are capable of a slaughter such as the one you describe. I am sorry, but this is the fate of every Sangheili."

Uncle Chuckspa sighed deeply, holding in his anger as best he could, as he placed the holo-newspaper on the kitchen table and stared at the floor. "Yes, Śzerman, humans are capable of such a slaughter. You've never had to deal with the ones they call 'Spartans'. I've seen things that I'll never un-see. I've heard things I'll never un-hear. My memory is branded with those images for the rest of my existence. I can't even listen to the humming of a dropship or vessel without a tear coming to my eye. But this crimson armour, these markings," he began, pointing to intricate teal hieroglyphs on the chest-plates of his armour. All combat veterans were granted these after serving. "They mean something. They mean that I put my life on the line for my religion and my people. I wear them proudly and it gives me the strength to know that someday all of the suffering, pain, and torment those sangs have gone through might not be in vain after all. Until that day comes, I wish the war never was."

Unbeknownst to them, Riley had completed his morning chores and had been listening to roughly half of the conversation from behind a wall. He felt extremely guilty after what he had just heard. The descriptions of battle that his seasoned uncle told haunted him and made him feel excruciatingly ashamed. Out of his six years in the Covenant military, he had seen perhaps ten battles, none of which were nearly as grotesque and scarring as Chuckspa's experiences. Gathering up his bearings, he sauntered into the kitchen where he was greeted by Śzerm.

"Look who is ready to join us."

Riley looked up and his eyes met Uncle Chuckspa's. "I guess," he answered.

Chuckspa lowered his gaze to his newspanel. "'Mornin'." He got up from his chair easily and refilled his mug from a pot on a counter. "So, are you ready to face the big, bad council?" he inquired. Riley didn't answer. Instead, he clasped his arms around his uncle and gave him the strongest hug he could muster.

"……I'm sorry," he said.

"Sorry? For what? What'd you do now?" he asked dryly, his expression frustrated.

"For……for the war."

Uncle Chuckspa sighed, put his mug down, and returned the hug. "……It's okay, trooper. I paid my dues. I'm not in service anymore and I've got the support of my wonderful clan members. I just wish I could say the same thing to you. It'll be over soon, Riley," he answered.

Riley let go of him and stared into his uncle's wise and somewhat reassuring eyes.

"Just stick it out a little longer and everything will be alright. Promise me that?"

"Absolutely, sir."

"Psh, _sir_," Uncle Chuckspa said with a chuckle. He shook his head as he looked his nephew over. "……You're not bad, kid……not bad at all."

"I try," Riley said with a shrug.

Chuckspa nodded. "You sure do, I'll give you that. Now, a full tutorial on how to work the council."

Riley chose a seat in between them and listened intently to what they had to say.

"The members of the council are wise and should be honoured. Remember your 'sirs' and 'Excellencys'," Uncle Śzerm said.

"You know all about the soldiers who are complete squad-leader pets. Be like them only multiplied by ten. If there ever was a day when you had to be a total suck-up, _to-day_ would be that day," Chuckspa added. "The Council of Particular Worth is made up of a group of political machine Sangheili and Prophets who are thirsty for _everyone's_ blood and will do _anything_ they can to find you guilty."

"The Prophets and council members alike have one thing in common……they hate to be wrong. So make sure that you agree with them. The better you cooperate with them, the quicker they'll release you—"

"—_And_ the lighter your sentence will be, like what the Special Operatives warrior told you last night," Śzerm put in.

"But most importantly—" Chuckspa said.

"—Tell them what they want to hear," both uncles said in unison.

"They are your religious hierarchs and you will do well to respect every aspect about them," Uncle Śzerm said.

Riley listened closely to everything they had to offer. He nodded in response, repeated important details, and asked good questions.

"Excellent! I think you're ready to take on the law," Uncle Chuckspa said after a half an hour of the tutorial.

"Thanks a lot, guys. You've been a great help! I'll do my best," Riley said.

"Anything for the betterment of the clan," Uncle Śzerm said. Moments later, the doorbell rang.

"Well, the shame ship is here. Good luck, Riley. Remember what we told you and _suck up_," Chuckspa added.

"Thanks again……I love you," Riley said as the automatic door slid open for him and revealed two stoic SpecOps Elites. He followed them down the stoop and into the Phantom that was hovering just outside. He boarded it feeling overly confident as his uncles watched from the doorway. The gravity lift on the ship faded as the trio entered and the ship began to gain altitude. Riley's relatives watched as the ship took off towards the towers the Prophet's called home.

"The kid's doomed," Uncle Chuckspa said with a nod.

"Indeed," Uncle Śzerm added, adjusting his glasses.

The inside of the Phantom was reserved and quiet, save for radio traffic on the Covenant battle net. Riley was sitting next to a gold-armoured Elite on his left and a Brute on the right. He noticed Brutes piloting the ship and sitting on the other side of the Zealot. Growing rather bored with crossing and re-crossing his legs and looking at the floor, he turned his attention to the other Elite. He was staring straight ahead and made barely any movements.

"Hi!" Riley said cheerfully. This sudden burst of speech startled the Brutes and caused them both to grunt and raise their weapons. The Zealot turned to Riley, unfazed by his jovial greeting.

"What's your name?" he continued.

The Zealot looked forward again. "……I have no name."

"Ooooooh-kay then," Riley said, a bit puzzled by the answer. "My name's Riley 'Bodensee! Perhaps you've heard of me. I uh, saved the_ Rice Cakes and Jesus Shoes_ from the detonation of Halo," he boasted sarcastically. "Everyone hates me, too. I think it's because I like human studies. But they're jealous of me. They're haters and I know they see me—"

"—_Do not_ talk to me about the holy ring," the Zealot stated hostilely.

"Oh, um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your—"

"—How can you side with those filthy beings? It is _their_ fault I am here. Everything is their fault."

"Well……Imunna hafta agree with you on _that_. Dave _did_ blow—"

"—Quiet! Don't speak another word, you dirty heels!" the pilot Brute bellowed. The Zealot growled in defiance and clenched his fists, but remained seated.

Riley gasped in disgust. "Hey! Don't use that word! It's mean! It's like calling the Lekgolo 'niggers'!"

The pilot Brute turned around and growled. Riley instantly shut his mouth. However, if silence is golden, the Covenant are flat broke.

"Pst! So, what are you in for?" Riley whispered to the Zealot.

"……I am charged with the destruction of Halo," he answered quietly and solemnly.

"But, but you didn't do anything. _Dave_—"

"—I failed to accurately warn the other ships in the armada, failed to destroy the only remaining human vessel, and failed to stop 'the Daemon'. Your ship and mine were the only ones to make it out," he answered.

"Ouch," Riley said, leaning back in his seat.

"……What about you?" the other Elite axed.

"Me? They blacklisted me and think I'm a witch or whatever just because I went to this underground filth show that my friend was playing at. Turns out it was sort of like a big meeting where they used their music to express their hate for the Prophets and laws and religion and stuff." All of the eyes on the Phantom were now cast upon Riley. He looked around nervously. "A-heh, um, I'm not a witch though, swear on my father's—"

"—Tell it to the holy ones," the Brute on his right guffawed as he roughly grasped Riley and threw him out of the ship. The other Brute grabbed the Zealot as well. After stumbling and tripping out of the Phantom, they were again shoved through a tall archway illuminated with purple light. Two other Brutes were standing with a terror-stricken Elite near the edge of the platform. The sounds of screaming Banshees and humming Phantoms could be heard arriving and leaving the area around them. The platform was stationed a good few klicks above High Charity's actual city and was located near the towers where the San Sh'yumm dwelled. Riley and the Zealot were faced with a short hallway which was of the same dismal metal and lined with violet pillars. Honour guards stood rigid on either side of the walkway.

"Schwanky," Riley said with a nod.

"I am not a witch! I swear by the Forerunners! I am not guilty!" the Elite pleaded.

"We'll find out. Fly, witch!" a Brute said, kicking the Sangheili off of the platform. Riley heard him shriek and plummet to his impending doom.

Both Brutes stared at each other. "Well……I suppose he wasn't a witch after all."

"It doesn't matter," his partner concluded. Riley swallowed hard.

The party entered the chamber shortly after and the offending Elites were marched up the stairs of a gallows where Brutes slowly and maliciously fastened nooses around their necks. They were accosted by the members of the Council of Particular Worth. The Prophet of Mercy was asleep in his anti-grav throne and Regret was still holographic, gazing around in a bored manner.

"Hey, _hey_! Get up, the criminals are here," Regret said in Mercy's direction. The other Prophet didn't even stir.

Regret sighed irately. "Hey, Horatio Hornblower," he called to a nearby honour guard holding a long tuba. "Give him a wake-up call," he ordered, pointing to Mercy. The soldier shrugged, stood to the left of the sleeping Prophet, raised his instrument, and hit an upper octave note that caught the attention of the entire room. Mercy hollered as he awoke with a start.

"Witches!" he exclaimed.

"Thanks, Harry James," Regret said to the honour guard.

"Oh, I am not _that_ good," he answered cheekily.

"You said it," Regret commented, aiming a slap at the back of the head, but it only made a technical noise and passed through him. The honour guard looked comically surprised.

"Contemptable youth! Now, where am I?" Mercy asked, smoothing out his robes.

Riley, who had been standing rather quietly, looked around the foreboding chamber and he noticed Clark standing with the file of honour guards. He wore an expression that expressed both confusion and worry. Riley shrugged, managing a weak smile.

"Doofus and Defiance," Regret said quietly as he gestured to the two Elites.

"Thou hast brought more blasphemy into mine chamber? So be it," Truth said. "You! There! With the spectacles."

"Who, me? I mean……yes, Excellency?" Riley asked, turning around to face the Prophets.

"Hm……I dislike the tone in which thou doth speaketh," Truth remarked haughtily.

"Well, I'm sorry my voice isn't lower or manlier like the other Sangheili. This is just how my body functions," Riley answered.

"Looks like we have got ourselves a real comedian here," Mercy said dryly.

"Sureeusly, I tell great jokes! Wanna hear some?"

"Thou shalt not desecrate mine pious ears with thine slander and while thou dwelleth within one of the Houses of the Prophets, thou wouldst do well to curb thine tongue."

"Yes, holy one."

"Careful. I got word from the minor Prophet aboard the _Truth and Reconciliation_ that this kid is a complete lunatic," Regret whispered.

"I can tell……look how eccentric and _individual _he looks, it is appalling! He reeks of witchery," Mercy answered.

Truth cleared his throat. "Rilo 'Boden—"

"—Um, excuse me, holy one?"

"You _dare_ interrupt the Prophet of Truth?!"

"My name is Ri_ley_, not Ri_lo_."

"Whatever. You are charged with acts of heresy and general witchery. What do you have to say for yourself?" Mercy stated.

"I'm not a witch, I swear!" Riley said, rather startled by the angered Prophet.

"Then why do you have a noose around your neck?" Regret inquired.

"Tricky," Mercy agreed.

"What confessions hath thee?"

"……Well, um, you see holy one—"

"—He also failed to retrieve 'the Royal Icon' from the sacred ring," Regret added, muttering closely so only Truth would hear.

"Um, I don't know what that is, but I _did_ find a radio, though. That thing was _annoying_. It only played _one_ station and it was some kind of droll talk show. Trust me, you _really_ didn't want it."

"What in the name of the gods is he talking about?" Mercy whispered to Truth. Truth waved him away in return.

"—Didst thou not attend a black mass whose sole purpose was a lewd and unholy storm upon the Covenant? Did they not chant evil and call upon the forces of all that is unjust and inverted?"

"Well, yes—"

"—Didst thou not kneel before the Head Witch, smearing his altar with your blood, and denouncing all faith within the glorious Covenant?"

"Um—"

"—_And_ didst thou not also, among your sinister confessions, admit that thou thinketh Sangheili with hair is something to scoff at?"

"Well yeah, but it's—"

"—Sangheili with hair? He is most definitely a witch!" Mercy concluded.

"No, no! I'm not! I'm not a witch! My uncles and aunt can—"

"—_Sucks to your auntie_!" Mercy thundered, getting the members of the council who were actually awake riled up.

Riley thought about everything that went on last night. It made him flash back to his childhood and when he constantly had to endure the taunts from the other Sangheili children and the disgraced comments from his elders. He also thought of the army where he was forced to do everything everyone older or of a higher rank ordered him to, and the pushy stylistics of the Prophet weren't helping.

"If what thou sayeths is the truth, then wouldst thou not stammer in bringing forth the names of those who have been blinded by this vicious oath?"

"I'm not going to name names. This is just like what happened on planet Earth more than five hundred—"

"—Thou art wearing mine patience thin_, Sangheili_," Truth snarled.

"Listen, I'm _not_ a witch! How many times do I have to tell everyone? I _did_ attend a _concert_ to support a friend in a band. He _failed_ to tell me that it had anti-Prophet messages, all of which I thought didn't make any sense, maybe because I couldn't understand what the guys were _screaming_ in the _first place_! I _also_ know the Head Witch, but not very well because he was shipped out to build a GoodAid, which we _don't need_ any more of, by the way! We never hit it off as friends! He didn't like me, for some odd reason. He didn't like _anyone_!"

"……Interesting. Why doth thee not cower before me? Why doth thee not plead for thine soul to be saved? Why doth thee not recite thine benedictions, praying for forgiveness from those on high?" Truth pointed out with much interest, his fingers forming a steeple.

"Actually, Excellency, I'm terrified right now. My hands are shaking, see? I'm sorry, I've just……these last few ages have been tough."

"Until you start _making progress_ and _eliminating_ the humans more accurately, you are going to continue to have 'tough ages' ahead of you," Mercy answered.

"Witchery!" a minor Prophet on the corresponding bandstand shouted as he stood up. The council gave a roar of agreement. Out of the corner of his eye, Riley noticed one member of the council from the Sangheili side who was sitting in the front row lean closer, as if thoroughly cross-examining him.

"Witch! He is a witch! He admitted it! I heard it! The council heard it too! Burn him! Burn—"

"—Silenceth thine selfeth!" the Prophet of Truth silenced the councilor's rant.

"But he is a—"

"—Hast thou lost the way? I do believeth this soldier is not a witch. Although thine intentions are crooked and thine path is rocky, this young Sangheili doth not carry the aura of witchery as heavily as the others. Thou doth not even don a pointy hat," Truth argued as Riley looked highly embarrassed by the insult.

"Pointy hats are the ultimate sin," Mercy agreed.

"Then what do _you_ suppose we do about him, then?" Regret questioned.

"I shall reveal thine fate. Many a night have I called upon our forefathers. Our gods have blessed me with visions from their all-seeing, all-knowing, watchful eyes from the beyond. The Forerunners have toldeth me of a forthcoming saviour. A savior which will end this daemonic plague which hast taken hold of our warriors. Perhaps it is _thee_ whom I hath seen in mine visions. Perhaps thou art to helpeth us remove this imperfection from our divine purpose."

A massive groan arose from the ranks.

"Shut up! There will be order in this court! Anyway……seeing as you have the ability to completely bore and irritate any given individual, we have decided to give you a grueling but heroic task for you to prove yourself and remove the label of 'witch'."

"Labels are for soup cans," Riley said to himself, averting his eyes from the Prophet's.

"You are to join up with the Special Operatives Sangheili and follow them on the next mission they receive. These tasks are demanding and only the truly worthy emerge victorious, or in any case, _alive_. There is no way to resist. You _will_ either accept this mission or you _will_ _indeed_ be executed," Mercy spat.

Riley was about to protest, but he thought about just how much trouble he was going to be in for disrespecting the Prophets and going against what his family for the umpteenth time. He also was ashamed at what Clark might be thinking about him.

"……Yes, holy ones," he answered solemnly, hanging his head. "I accept."

"Look thine Prophet in the eye, witch!" Truth demanded. Riley immediately looked up.

"Next!" Regret bellowed. A large panel hung on one of the chamber walls blinked to the next number.

The Brutes removed Riley from his noose roughly and led him down the stairs of the gallows. "Well done," the Zealot said sarcastically under his breath as the Brutes continued to shove Riley.

"Alright, what is this guy's story?" Mercy axed.

"_This_ officer is responsible for the destruction of one of the sacred rings," Regret growled.

"For reals?"

"And serious."

"How is this so?!"

"The humans fled from their world. I followed them with every ship in my fleet."

"How many of the daemons escaped?" Truth inquired, folding his hands inside the sleeves of his robes.

"One military vessel."

"Really? Only one? And you could not even _dent _it?"

"……No, holy one."

"One human vessel. You could not take out _one-human-vessel_. I demand mocking laughter from

the council!" Regret ordered. All of the members obeyed, erupting with gales of hilarity.

"One ship! You could not find one, solitary, human ship and destroy it?! With a whole fleet of

the finest Covenant military warcraft?!" Mercy shouted, hitting a good seven on the Laugh-Richter scale.

"Cease!" Truth ordered. The room grew quiet in an instant. "Continue, Shipmaster Witch."

"They called it _Pillar of Autumn._"

"What did thee thinketh of the holy ring when thou first laid thine eyes upon its majesty?"

"One ship? And you _failed_?" Mercy chuckled softly.

"Well, er, holy ones."

"What? Were you not able to find _that_ either?" Regret said.

"He _failed_," Mercy added.

"Noble Hierarchs, I—we landed on the holy ring, but the parasite—"

"—How many times do I have to tell you? You need to tuck your pants into your socks in tick areas. It looks stupid, yes, but you'll thank me in the end."

"_And_ thou alloweth them to sinfully prance about on one of the Forerunner's holy relics?" Truth said.

"No! We found the humans, but we were attacked by another life form. What our lords refer to as 'the Flood'."

"Noble Prophets, if I may, perhaps _this_ will solidify your intel," Tartarus, Chieftain of the Brutes said, stepping forward. He clutched the Zealot roughly and took a hold of his communications gear. After a second of playing "Keep Away" with another Brute, he searched through the bytes of combat, troop, and formation info and he found what he was looking for.

"He was _right_. I received word from one of my Jiralhanae that this particular Sangheili has active possession of……this," the Chieftain touched a panel that was almost too small for his finger, and the song "Stand" by R.E.M. began playing loudly. The whole chamber gasped in response to the ancient music.

"Whooo! Go Zealot! Rep-ree-zent!" Riley yelled.

"No! Wait! I-I can explain!" the Zealot pleaded.

"Is that……_human_ music?! Filth! Scorn!" Truth demanded in an outrage, clamping his hands over his ears.

"Yes and he's got dozens more!" Tartarus explained.

"What is the meaning of this?! Thou hast brought a plague upon this House! Thou willst never be able to wash thine hands of this heinous crime! A hundred, no, _a thousand_ lashings be upon thee!" Truth scorned.

"The second sign of witchery, incantations in forbidden languages! He is a witch as well!" Mercy cried.

"I-I……I admit it. I _love_ R.E.M. They are one of my favourite bands, despite the fact that they are human and more than five hundred years old," the Zealot admitted sadly.

"—Burn them!" the same minor Prophet who had yelled at Riley stood up and the rest of the members roared in agreement. They had already sat through _four_ trials in the early hours of the morning; someone just _had_ to be executed. Both sides of the council began to murmur radically amongst themselves, a few outraged individuals raising their voices above the others. The Zealot looked about himself, amazed at the controversy he was stirring up.

"Loud noise is the third sign of witchery!" Mercy hollered, slamming a fist down on the arm of his anti-grav throne.

"For this diabolical act, thou shalt burn……burn!" Truth added.

"_I will_ continue my campaign against the humans!" the Zealot pleaded.

"_You will not_. Tartarus, remove this……this……_witch_ from mine sight! It will take ages of prayer and self-mutilation to cleanse this chamber!" he concluded quickly, calling for his cat o'nine tails and proceeding to lash himself across the back with it.

"Next!" Regret then shouted. The panel blinked again, displaying the next number.

Tartarus ordered two of his Brutes to seise the Zealot. He yanked his arms away as they tried to grab him. Turning around and following them out manually, he listened to the Prophets behind him.

"Think about your direction and wonder why you haven't before, _witch_!" Regret added.

"He failed! He could not destroy one human ship with a whole armada of—" Mercy called out.

"—Enough already! We know he is a failure!" Regret said.


	4. Chapter 4: Beat State!

**Chapter IV: Beat State!**

**11:2:2552 Cairo Station (Location: Earth)**

**We're on Cairo Station. It's in space. What more you ask for?**

The day seemed to be coasting rather slowly, even though it was still early in the morning. All of the naval staff inhabiting Cairo Station were busy at work and all the Marines were preparing themselves for another day of alien war. "Busy at work" and "preparing themselves" actually means everyone was lazing around waiting for something to happen.

A rookie naval officer slumped in his chair, drumming his fingers on the control panel and eyeing a radar screen closely. Ensign Colin Sanborn entered his second day in his promotion and much to his disappointment, the previous day was rather uneventful. He desperately hoped _something_ would happen, even the most insignificant action would suffice. He sighed in a bored manner and leaned back in his chair, eyes still glued to the radar. Suddenly, low and behold, his communications frequency began to beep as a small red light blinked on the console.

"Ugh, _finally_!" he said, immediately sitting up and pushing the button. "This is Ensign Sanborn, Cairo Station, here. Come in."

He heard some muffled noises coming from the other end. It kind of sounded like giggling, but he couldn't be sure.

"Uh, yeah, um……Sanborn was it? Um, we—I mean I—I need to speak with uh, a Major Boner," a deep, masculine voice asked and was followed by louder giggling noises.

"Um, sure, hold on, lemme get him," Sanborn said. He stood up and cleared his throat. "EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME, EVERYONE? IS THERE A MAJOR BONER IN THE STATION?!" he hollered. Everyone looked up and in his direction. "I SAID, IS THERE A MAJOR BONER IN THE STATION?!" he repeated.

"……There is _now_!" an officer answered as the whole control chamber exploded with laughter.

"Good on ya, rookie!"

"Are ya feelin' lucky today?!"

Sanborn went red, realising what he had just bellowed……and to the entire command staff. He figured he was going to be in deep after this.

"What in Sam Hill is going on down there?!" Lord Hood, one of several imposing admirals of the UNSC Naval branch, interjected as his voice came over the intercom.

"Sir, guess what just happened! You missed the whole thing!" a command officer said through gales of laughter as he pressed a button to answer Lord Hood.

"Well, what happened? Were you people reading your inappropriate Mad Libs out loud again? Honestly, you're like high school freshman all over again."

"No, it was _better_! Someone prank called the station and axed for a 'Major Boner' and Ensign Sanborn yelled out the request for everyone to hear!"

"……Dammit. Now I have to come down there and chastise him which will stall me from finishing my coffee cake. I hope you're happy, _rookie_," Hood said firmly, not raising his voice.

"I'm not," Sanborn answered.

Things were the same as far as activity goes down in the break rooms. Lieutenant Henry Dalloway was relaxing, brewing himself and his fellow officer Vincent Oleander some instant space coffee. Space coffee sucks, by the way, but it wasn't _all_ bad because _everything_ sounds better with the word "space" in front of it.

"Did you catch the highlights from the game from last night?" Oleander asked.

"Yeah. Looks like it'll be the Richmond Bobbin-Doffers against the Boston Tea Bags again," Dalloway answered, referring to the two popular professional grav-ball teams advancing to the finals.

"I hope the bags win again," Oleander commented, turning back to the "Herr Coffee" brand machine.

"Well then, no sign of 'her', I take it?" Oleander tried again.

"Not this morning, but I wouldn't—"

Before Dalloway could finish his sentence, both Lieutenants heard screams and saw three other soldiers from various ranks and braches tear by the break room.

"She's coming, _she's coming_! Hide your sons!" a wild-eyed Marine hollered as he stopped in the doorway and grabbed both sides of the archway. He then let out another blood-curdling shriek, grabbed his face, and took off down the rest of the hallway.

"Hey _you_! Get outta my hall!" they heard a female voice call out.

"……Yep……just another day on Cairo Station," Dalloway said blandly.

Miranda was coming…….

The sound of heavy combat boots scraping metal rang through one of many open corridors as she stalked down towards the break room. She was clad in her naval uniform and an expression that sent a clear message. One that said "all of you……DIE!"

Miranda was coming……

Alleged offspring of the late Captain Jacob Keyes and aged twenty-five years, she already assumed position as Commander of her own frigate _In Amber Clad_ (not to be confused with a horny Flood dictator who _doesn't_ command a frigate). As she strutted down the hall, the chorus to the infamous rap she had written about herself could be heard.

Miranda was coming……

"My name's Miranda Keyes, I'm hangin' with mah G's, gotta problem with me, I'll bust yer friggin' knees! I dual wield SMGs, I neva say 'please', beat sucka MCs, Cuv-i-nent warships I seize!" the two heard as she zeroed in on the break room.

"I spoke too soon," Oleander said, accepting a cup of coffee.

"Good morning, angels!" she yelled, bursting into the room. "The sun's a-shining, them asteroids is hurtling through space, and I'm ready to kick some alien ass!"

"Good morning, Commander," both Lieutenants responded blankly.

"Whhy is everything 'ass' with you? You need to change that ass to 'class', lady," Oleander inquired.

"Allfather Oden hates you," Miranda said threateningly.

"Why don't you take some muscle relaxants and get ready for the ceremony with Lord Hood?" Dalloway suggested.

"Like usual, I'm way ahead of you. That's why I came down here," she continued.

"Oh, _come on_! Why do _we_ need to go?" Oleander whined.

"Hey, hey, hey! Last time _I_ checked, you two have to do whatever I says you do. You're directly under my command. By the way, Oden hates whiners," Miranda explained.

"You know, being in the National Guard sure sounds a lot better than being in the Navy right now," Oleander said.

"Psh, you're both pansies."

"Want some space coffee, Commander?"

"No. I'm vegan," she answered.

"……But, vegans can—"

"—By the way, I think I should inform you……my name _isn't_ Miranda anymore. It's 'Starla'," she pointed out.

"Since when?"

"_Since forever_! Yeez."

"Why 'Starla'?"

"Because I'm a Star……la."

"Whatever," Dalloway concluded with a shrug.

The automatic door opened again, but this time Sergeant-Major Avery Junior Johnson strolled in.

"Well, look who it is, it's Uncle Ben! Got some rice for me, Uncle Ben?" Miranda said, feeling dangerous.

"Hey Miranda, I just came from Terminal C and I saw a guy in navigation listenin' to your favourite Bloodocaust album," Johnson retaliated.

"Not 'Baphomet Eating Heinrich Himmler's Remains without Ketchup'?!"

……No, the other one," Johnson corrected, totally winging it and hoping for a strike.

Miranda gasped in horror. "No low-ranking son-of-a-bastard listens to _my_ doom metal and gets away with it!" she stated and bolted out the door.

"God help the poor sap who tried to get a moments worth of headbanging," Oleander shook his head.

"Zing!" Dalloway said.

"Thank you _so_ much, Sergeant-Major. You don't know what it's like."

"Yeah, alright, don't get all nancy on me, Oleander, or you'll be checkin' the business end of 'Mrs. Jones'," he ordered. "Mrs. Jones" was the name of his beloved assault rifle, which was promptly replaced with a BR55 battle rifle because the UNSC HQ doesn't understand the bond between and man and his gun.

"You're just lucky I hafta go fetch the swabbie. Holla," he said as he saluted again.

"Holla back," both Loots answered together as the Sergeant-Major left the room without another word.

"Why do the Marines always call the Chief 'swabbie'?" Dalloway whispered. Oleander shrugged.

Spartan-117, the Master Chief, was waiting patiently for the Gunnery Sergeant to explain, with great detail, everything that was wrong with his older model of MJOLNIR armour.

"Yeah, um……the scoffis was totally unplugged from the uh, fusion wootangent, and yer crème de la crème drive was totally fried. An' let's not even tawk about this little red thing. If a spark plug, a mahnd control chip, an' one a them swirly fluorescent laight bulbs was ta have some kinda crazy luv triangul, their resultin' child would look lahke this," he explained unintelligibly as he tossed the device on the table in front of him.

"……You have no idea what you're talking about, do you?" the Master Chief stated.

"Listen son, this hardware is extremely expensive. Alls I'm sayin' is that ya gotta take better care of yer gear."

The Master Chief grabbed his helmet from the table and placed it over his head, making sure it sealed just right. "Tell that to the Covenant."

"Alright, fine. If yer gonna act lahke that. We need ta check yer targeting systems. Lookit each light as it comes on. Lookit the top light, good, now lookit the bottom light, all ryte, lookit the top, now lookit the bottom."

The Master Chief followed the directions obediently, but just when he thought the test would be over, the Sergeant continued for some reason.

"Lookit the top, now lookit the bottom, now lookit the top, lookit the bottom, now lookit the top, now lookit the—"

"—I can see fine," the Chief interrupted.

"Hey! Who's tha one in charge here?" the Gunnery Sergeant barked. The Master Chief leaned forward, placing his hands on the top of the control panel.

"……Master Chief Petty Officer," he stated, pointing to himself. "……Gunnery Sergeant," he then said, jabbing the Marine just underneath the shoulder with the same finger. Like most Spartan-fearing Marines, he was vastly afraid and respectful of the altered soldier and submitted.

"Okay, fine, you win, Chief. Anyway, take a quick wawk and get a feel for the new gear. Meet me back at the zapper win yer finished," he instructed.

The Master Chief nodded in response, but found himself only striding towards one of the large bay windows. He stared outside into the nightshade abyss, fixing his eyes on the corner of the lush planet, the only part that wasn't covered by Cairo Station's obesity. It triggered memories of the battles on Halo weeks before and nearly all of the humans who had perished there after escaping Reach, another fatal conclusion. He rolled out his shoulders, stretched his arms, and tested his reflexes and movements in the new gear. He was jerked out of his reflection by the Sergeant.

"Are ya dun' yet?" he hollered.

The Master Chief sighed with a hint of resentment as he trudged over to the shield tester.

"Alright now, yer armours new shield system is much more resilient, very efficient. I'm gonna fire her up now……that's what he said," he said as he pushed a button on the panel. Two pitch fork-like prongs began to rotate around the Chief slowly, gradually gaining speed. After a few seconds, he felt a zap and the armours security system began to sound a high-pitched alarm.

"Bingo!" the Sergeant replied, appearing to be enjoying the test heavily. "See? If that happens on the field, find some cover an' wait for the meter to read full."

"_Good_. I_ loathed_ searching for med kits," the super soldier sighed.

No sooner had he said that, the blast doors to the main elevator opened and Sergeant Johnson stepped out.

"_That_ or he can hide behind _me_. You done with my boy yet? I _don't see_ any training wheels."

"Already did that," the lesser of the two Sergeants answered, gesturing to the pair of wheels lying on a table scattered with rifle magazines.

"Don't remind me," the Spartan grunted as he averted his gaze from Johnson's.

"And his armour's workin' just fine, so shut yer chili-hole!"

"……Look, if you're gonna say anythin', _at least_ say pie-hole or somethin' that makes sense," Johnson said.

"Stop makin' fun 'a my tawk!"

"I'll do whatever I _damn_ well please."

"I ain't gotta listen to no nig—"

"—_What's_ that, backwoods boy?" Johnson growled.

"Er……nuthin'."

"That's what I _thought_. C'mon Chief, they're waitin' for us at the bridge," he instructed.

The Master Chief nodded, stepped around the zapper, and made his way into the elevator.

"So Johnson, when are you gonna tell me about how ya made it back in one piece?"

"Sorry, classified," he said as the door began to shut.

"Ha! Mah ayass! An' you can fergit about those adjustments to yer—" he was promptly cut off by the speed of the elevator as it descended.

"Well, _he_ was in a particularly _fine_ mood," Johnson said. "He's probably just ornery because Lord Hood didn't give _him_ an invitation." He was standing at the back of the elevator, posture uncomfortably rigid and hands clasped behind his back. Johnson was an upstanding soldier and it wasn't difficult to see.

The elevator came to a stop and the pair exited onto a small cable shuttle running the length of the long open hallway.

"Earth……haven't seen her in years," he said quietly, gazing out the window. The Master Chief stood next to him, marveling at the sight. He dove back into his memory bank as the sight of the planet came into view more clearly. Johnson continued on about something probably uninteresting and the Chief literally heard a series of "blahs" with different lengths and accents. This time, he thought about the crazy or otherwise strange allies and enemies he met on the ringworld. There was the lunatic humanitarian Elite and his friends, the various soldierly or tragically doomed Covenant, and not to mention the fanatically racist Flood forms. The Chief shook his head slowly as he felt the shuttle come to a stop.

Riley and the Zealot were ushered roughly down the same hall they entered. It was lined with different races of the Covenant jeering and ridiculing the Elites. All of them were of the lower classes and any chance they got to stick it to the Elites was like liquefied Christmas. The Zealot said nothing and kept his eyes focused straight ahead. Riley, on the other hand, was motor-mouthing about inane subjects over Tartarus's shoulder.

"—Hey! That reminds me of this one time at combat training, and this one guy was like—"

"—Ugh, dear Prophets, _make it stop_!" the Chieftain said loudly. "You heels don't know when to quit, do you?"

"Hey! What did I tell you guys about using those words?" Riley asked.

"I'm gonna tell _you this_," Tartarus roared, throwing Riley to the metal floor, his helmeted head bouncing off the hard surface and causing his shields to flare. He slowly sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. He was on his hands and knees ready to try and stand when the Brute shoved him down on the ground again and deliberately trod on the Elite's fingers. Riley held in a yelp of pain and gripped his smarting hand tightly.

"I'll show you what happens to guys like you."

He approached the Zealot in front of a massive drop off that stood between the council chamber and a view-port for other members of the Covenant to watch executions. It was filled with aliens and all were cheering. There was a large, uncomfortable-looking chair in the middle of the platform. Two Brutes led the Zealot to it and roughly strapped him down.

"You've drawn quite a crowd," Tartarus said.

"If they came to hear me beg, they will be _disappointed_," the Zealot spat.

"Are you sure? We'll see about that……" Tartarus grilled. A flat screen ascended from a slot in the floor and rose up to a comfortable viewing height. Wondering what sort of diabolical viewing displeasure would soon grace his eyes, the Zealot figured he was in for the ultimate punishment. Moments later, the ancient human movie "Getting Away with Murder", starring Dan Ackroyd and Jack Lemmon, began playing.

"Oh no! This movie was _horrible_! It was given a turkey in every single movie review book ever in the history of time!" Riley yelled out at the golden-armoured warrior.

"Easy. I will just not watch," he answered, closing his eyes. As soon as he did so, he was rewarded with a violent electric shock.

"Thought it would be easy, did you heel? You must watch the film and if you struggle to shut your eyes, you'll suffer 17,000 volts of electricity. Happy viewing, Ebert," Tartarus explained.

Johnson was the first out of the cable car, the Master Chief close behind. A small group of Marines were waiting outside, cheering and applauding. Several cameras bearing an uncomfortable resemblance to Sentinels hovered over the guard rails. Two stoic Royal Guardsmen stood stock-still on either side of the entrance. Lord Hood, being both of British nobility and highest-ranking officer on the station, was granted their presence while serving on the Cairo. A Marine was busy trying to make one of them move or speak.

"You told me there weren't going to be any cameras," the Master Chief said, observing his surroundings.

"You told me you were gonna wear somethin' nice!" he answered. "Folks need heroes, Chief, give 'em hope. So just smile, woodja? While we still got somethin' to smile about."

"Oh, like that joke _never_ gets old," the Chief said under his breath as the large doors to the bridge opened slowly.

"Thor's hammer! You guys are later than a prostitute's period!" Miranda Keyes exclaimed.

"Hey, mind if I use that one?" a crewman asked.

"_Yes_," Miranda grunted, making a start for him. "So, Johnson, taking your CP time?"

"CP Time?" Johnson asked.

"Yep, coloured people time. Have you ever noticed how it takes coloured people like, at least an hour to get to _any_ appointment?"

"My, how delightfully prejudiced," Dalloway said.

"Actually, she's right. Coloured people _do_ take forever to get anywhere," Johnson sighed.

"And the Chief is just late because he's too fat and it takes him an extra ten years to get around," she finished.

"You're so weird……ma'am," Lieutenant Oleander said.

"Thank you. I blame television and playing table tennis with my cousins in my youth," Miranda answered quickly, jerking her head to the side to crack her neck loudly as she shook her arms out and straightened her uniform.

"Oh, Jack Lemmon, _why_? You were so good in 'Some Like it Hot' and 'the Odd Couple', but _this_?" Riley said, shaking his head in utter disappointment. The cheeky Officer normally adored Jack Lemmon films, but what he and the Zealot were forced to endure was nothing short of sheer misery……a cruel and unusual punishment.

"Let there be no greater witchery! Let this be a lesson to all who would threaten to break the Covenant……or listen to human bands, especially R.E.M!" he roared. A jubilant cheer arose from the observing crowd as he growled to the Brutes, who jerked the Zealot out of the chair and promptly began stripping him of his seared armour.

The vast bridge was loaded with naval personnel, most of which were surrounding the four stairs that led to a main control panel where Lord Hood and two of his favourite vassals waited. He was wearing the signature violet velvet cape he received upon being promoted to personify his "lordship". After all, one displays the honourific "lord" _clearly_ by wearing velvet capes. It only makes sense.

Both Johnson and the Master Chief saluted upon reaching the top of the stairs, doing the best they could to ignore Miranda's comments.

"Aha!" Lord Hood said, grabbing his cape, bringing his arm to up eye level so it shielded the rest of his body, and raising his eyebrows. This was not an uncommon act, though. Who _wouldn't_ act like a villain while wearing a velvet cape?

"Gentleman, I'm glad you could make it. Now, we shall start the ceremony!"

A naval officer to Hood's right took one step forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"_I told you_. We'll discuss your eldest daughter's marriage _later_!" Lord Hood replied quietly and angrily.

"_I need to know if we should buy the dress_," the Officer answered through gritted teeth.

"Feh! Go ahead Cortana," he said, focusing his attention over to a small, waist-high pedestal to everyone's right.

"Another whisper, sir, near Io," Cortana answered, her avatar appearing beside him.

"I'm dreadfully sorry, gents, but it appears we're going to have to make this quick," Lord Hood said.

"……You look nice," Cortana commented in the general direction of the two soldiers.

"Thanks," they both said in unison and then proceeded to look at one another.

"You owe him a soda!" everyone heard a voice ring out in the bridge somewhere.

"Cortana's so desperate. I bet you're loving this attention," Miranda commented snidely.

"At least _I_ have stuff to touch," the AI retorted.

"OoOoOoh!" the whole bridge echoed.

Miranda glared at Cortana's holographic image and growled. "At least _my_ junk is _real_."

"Reer!" a naval officer said, making a cat-claw gesture.

"Woman! Don't cause a scene!" Lord Hood said, putting a hand on Miranda's shoulder and continuing on with the ceremony. "Sergeant-Major, I hereby award you with the Colonial Cross of Cowardice for fighting with an Elite over an empty assault rifle, proceeding to hug him, and then somehow getting off of the ring. Good news though, you're a level forty Paladin!" Lord Hood said, doing the cape thing again after Johnson accepted the medal.

"Wow……" Riley chuckled to himself, banishing thoughts of his smarting hand and watching as the Brutes concluded the stripping of the Zealot's armour.

"_Ow_!" someone in the room yelled as a few started clapping and hails of laughing rose up from the masses. Tartarus ignored the stupidity of the lower classes as an intricate, pike-looking staff emerged from somewhere underneath the platform. He hefted it up and held it at his side with both hands. Riley noticed the end was hissing and was well heated. Tartarus then heaved it up and plunged it onto the Zealot's chest. Being at the end of his ropes, the Zealot let out a series of worthy "Halloween sound effects tape" screams as he was branded with the "Emblem of Everlasting Dishonour and Witchery Those Who Mess Up Receive".

"Dude, that's some _sureeus_ ink……" Riley said to himself with a nod.

"Commander Miranda Keyes, you……_Commander Miranda Keyes_," Lord Hood repeated.

"Oh, wait! Wait, yeah, um, yeah that's me, but I _told_ you my name is _Starla_," she answered as she stopped reviewing her nails and stepped forward.

"Fine, _Starla_."

They performed an intricate Navy handshake that took much longer than everyone wanted. It ended with "the Rocket" which was Lord Hood raising his thumb and Miranda taking the part of the flame by rapidly wiggling her fingers. They switched off every time they performed it as to be fair.

"Undoubtedly, I have gained the favour of the one-eyed great father Oden," Miranda said, straightening her posture.

"……Sure. Commander Whateveryou'recallingyourself Keyes, your father was a great contribution to—"

"—Okay, hold on……before we progress _any further_, I bring you all terrible, terrible news. Captain Jacob Keyes might not be my father because my mother was a dirty whore and cheated on him with two other guys," she said Maury Povich style. Everyone in the room gasped dramatically, except Johnson and the Master Chief. One guy even fainted.

"What?! This _can't_ be true!" Lord Hood said, pulling his cape up.

"_Believe it_, brother. From what I heard, my dad could be hoppin' boxcars in Little Rock or trying to make ends meet as a cobbler in Czechoslovakia."

"It's not Czechoslovakia anymore, it's the Czech Republic," someone correctly.

"Whoever said that's going to wake up on a burning longship out to sea," Miranda promised.

"Oh, what a tangled web we weave," one of the vassals said.

"Yep. That's the story of my life," Miranda said.

"Well, regardless of who your biological father is, he's been in your life the most, so……he was a great Navy man, we're sorry he died, here's the medal," Lord Hood said, handing it over to her.

"You know, come to think of it, I wonder if my dad was gay," she proposed, looking thoughtful.

"Would it matter?" the Master Chief asked.

"No way! Not at all. I'm just making a point, like saying my uniform is grey, this is a spacestation, that naval officer is ugly," she replied, gesturing to a tragically unattractive man wearing Lieutenant bars. He ran off crying and entered the boiler room, the place everyone went to sob.

"I mean, I don't have _any_ recollection of my mother at all. I just figured she was a whore and left when I was younger."

"Where you found in a trash can?" one newer Officer made the mistake of asking. He wasn't yet aware of the ferocity that could be unleashed by the Commander.

"……Ask yourself if you want to die today and answer 'yes'!" Miranda said as she tried to head down and attack him, but was also seised by a pair of officers. Lord Hood looked around for a second, then brought his cape up again and raised his eyebrows.

"Everyone! _Everyone shut up_!" Cortana yelled. The whole room went quiet and turned their attention to the AI. "Thank you. We've got fifteen Covenant ships inbound."

"What?!" Lord Hood said, looking behind him to the huge radar panel.

"They're all boarders, your lordship, and closing in fast," an officer on the second level said.

"Ah! We're all gonna die!" another officer on the main floor said quickly and incoherently as he took off at a frenzied sprint around the room, his naval cap falling off.

"_This is Fleet Admiral Harper, I love being handcuffed to the bed_," they heard over the transmission.

"Negative, Admiral. Resume your position. We've got boarders, people. Commander Keyes—"

"—Yo."

"Get to your ship. Get out there and keep 'em away as long as you can."

"Tch, you _could_ say '_please_'. What? People in capes are allowed to banish their manners?"

"Fine. _Please_ will you get to your ship _now_ and keep 'em away as long as you can?"

"Aye, aye, your lordship! Team _In Amber Clad_!" she shouted, revealing a conch shell and sounding the call to rally her crewmen. The members of her frigate surrounded her instantly, entering from various points in the room, including the ceiling vents, all answering the call of their Commander. They put their hands inside their circle when all of them were present. "All right team, we got Covenant sons-of-bastards and we's gonna take 'em out to dinner! But first, let's go raid my dad's office and try to find his keytar!"

"Best idea ever!" a crewman agreed.

"One, two, three, BIDDY!" they all shouted and threw their hands in the air. Everyone dashed out the door hollering as Miranda led the way.

"What's 'biddy'?" the Master Chief asked softly as he leaned over towards Cortana.

"It's their 'secret' word. Naturally, by 'secret', I mean the whole station knows about it. It's kind of like the Marines and their 'who-rah!'" she explained.

"Ah," he said with a nod, facing Lord Hood again and standing at attention.

"Master Chief!" he said. "You must be the guardian of this station. Use whatever means necessary to vanquish our foes and protect your fellow men. You, oh Hero of the Ring, must once again don your flowing cloak stained with the blood of—"

"—Yes, sir, I understand."

"……Excellent. Then go, my son," Lord Hood dismissed the Spartan.

"I need a weapon," he said, turning to Johnson.

"Right this way," he answered, leading the Chief down the small flight of stairs and back out of the bridge.

A squad of Marines was waiting outside the door when they made their exit. Johnson hefted a turret on his shoulder as they all briskly took weapons from the weapon lockers lining the staircase down to the next level. The Master Chief chose a BR55 battle rifle and an M7 sub-machine gun. Finding fault with the machine gun, he replaced it and took another. If the Chief wasn't so unfeeling, he would have sworn he heard the other firearm begin sobbing.

"You look like a 'Moby'," he said to the rifle. "And _you_ look like 'Jaime'……but the guy form," he told the SMG.

He followed the file of Marines and Johnson down the rest of the staircase and came to the lower level. The pack continued forth down a service corridor and out to another stairwell. Johnson set his turret down at the end of the platform and a Marine jumped down and took cover among various cargo modules. The zapping of plasma weapons and a dim thudding could be heard in the large room.

"Feel the fire on that bulkhead!" Johnson said orgasmically.

The Chief was careful to observe that nothing was happening to the doors.

"Alright, as soon as those bastids break through, let 'em have it!" Johnson ordered as the lock on the blast door at the far side of the hanger began to glow orange. The Master Chief readied himself for the oncoming assault, raising "Moby" and clenching his teeth. Moments later, the door exploded into scorching shrapnel and Covenant soldiers poured into the hanger. The Master Chief focused most of his attention on the Elites, figuring the Marines would have an easier time with the Grunts that scampered about. The presence of Johnson's turret proved to be a big help and helped pick off the surviving troops. The Chief ducked back behind the holo panel and allowed his shields to recharge from a few plasma bolts that managed to splash his chest from a dying Elite's rifle. Nonetheless, he waited only a few seconds and emerged from his cover……only to find two more Elites and a scattering of Grunts appear on the level above. He strafed the searing plasma bolts and answered with a hail of bullets, tearing the remaining enemy troops to shreds. Taking a moment to reload his weapon behind another panel, he noticed his motion tracker read that there were still signs of life. Soon after that, another group of soldiers appeared at the wreckage of the door. This group consisted of mainly Grunts, but there were many of them, _and_ they were flanked by two Elites.

He lobbed a fragmentation grenade over the holo panel and listened to it bounce on the floor. Two Grunts barely had the time to scream as it went off, killing them on contact, wounding an Elite, and missing the other. The Master Chief brought his gun up again and aimed at the wounded Elite. It didn't take long to put him down. Johnson and another Marine managed to take out the last Elite. Much to their dismay, more fools rushed in. The Chief got a break this time as the visitors were taken out mainly by Johnson and the two flanking Marines.

"We're baaaaaad muthas!" a Marine hollered as he came up behind the Chief.

"Don't get cocky now, Private. This is far from over," Johnson said, abandoning his turret and loading "Mrs. Jones". "Oh yeah, me and 'Mrs. Jones'……we gotta thing goin' on," he said with a chuckle as the soldiers stormed into the next service hallway. It was dimly lit, the only light was provided by red, flickering emergency beacons and searing pieces of metal and cargo. A small group of Covenant was busy returning fire on another squad of Marines in the hallway parallel to the entrance. The Master Chief picked up an SMG that lay under a fallen soldier and hosed the enemy position with bullets.

"Not again!" they heard a Grunt holler as he was turned into a pincushion. The other managed to spring out of the way, but was rewarded with a face-full of bullets from another turret.

"Thanks, but I can do it myself next time," a Marine at the head of the turret said sarcastically.

"You sure?" he answered, passing around him and climbing the next set of stairs.

"No problem," the gunner said with a nod.

The Master Chief quickly stormed up the flight of service stairs. When he was topside, he was rewarded with a dead Marine and two different doors, one of which was locked. He mournfully scrounged some ammo from the leatherneck and entered through the left door. It led out to a balcony that overlooked one of the many recreational areas. The sound of a firefight was clear as he glanced down at a recreation room full of Covenant. Hastening not, he lunged for a turret and aimed it at a team of Grunts who had one of the naval personnel and a Marine pinned behind a planter. Swinging the barrel around, he hosed the team with 12.9x99 mm shells. The Grunts dropped like flies. The Chief scanned the area for the rest of the aliens that had leaped for cover. In the distance, he could make out the glow of a plasma pistol from behind a wall. Someone on the level below hollered something and sprayed the same area with a burst from a battle rifle. The Grunts jumped out in surprise and met their doom at the hands of the Spartan's turret. Deeming the area clear, he removed his hands from the trigger and continued to make his way through the recreation center.

When he had finished disposing of the aliens, he met up with the Marine and the naval officer on the ground floor.

"_All hands brace for impact_," Lord Hood said with virtually no emotion over the intercom. The Chief held on to one of the metal spokes that had previously held together a small glass railing prior to Covenant boarding. The Navy buddy threw down his rifle and grabbed the trunk of a tree. The soldiers felt Cairo Station shudder moments later.

"Man, I hate deez eh-lee-inz!" the Marine said aloud. No sooner had he said that, the blast doors on the right side of the room opened and a team of five Grunts led by two Elites rushed in.

"Whoa, keep movin'!" the Navy buddy called out, grabbing up his rifle. One Elite, in a poor attempt to act heroically, jumped up on a cargo module as the other slid to the right and tried to flank them. The Chief focused his energy on the Elite on top of the module and put him down rather quickly. The humans managed to tackle the other Elite, but the pack of Grunts high-tailed it out the way they entered, screaming like Banshees. The Master Chief charged through the blast doors and covered them with a blanket of bullets.

"Nice goin', Chief!" the Marine said as the Spartan reloaded his rifle and made for the opposite blast doors to the left.

"Thanks," he answered.

He waded past the bodies of two dead human soldiers and dozens of dead Grunts until he found some more stairs. Another firefight sounded like it was taking place at the top. Quickening his pace, he sped up and came to a lookout in Pelican Bay Four. A few Marines were scrambling on the lower level and another fired relentlessly from a turret on his level. A scattering of Grunts and Elites were jumping from module to module or running about. Looking through the 2x scope on his rifle, he took aim at the Elites first, as they posed the biggest threat. Aiming his bursts, he managed to down both hinge-jawed warriors. The turret proved to be effective against the other aliens. More boarders poured into the bay through a small purple ship that had attached itself to the translucent energy fields that allowed ships to dock and depart. It was only Grunts this time and they all fell in a pile underneath the ship, giving the Chief and the Marines the pleasure of focusing all bullets on them. A similar team came in after them, but one lone Elite had managed to find his way in as well. The Chief jumped down to the lower level after picking up a dead Marine's SMG and dual-wielding again. He named this one "Charlotte". Taking two plasma bolts from the warrior's rifle, he won out in the end. Waiting another moment to make sure more unlucky boarders didn't try to get in, the coast seemed clear.

"The _Malta's_ already driven off its boarders!" one Marine shouted as he pointed out past the bay force fields.

"_I don't believe it, they're retreating! We won!_" another voice said over the communications gear. The Chief wanted to believe them, but deep down, he knew the Marines were dirty, rotten liars. That being thought, the massive UNSC cruiser _Athens_ exploded and gave off a blinding orange and yellow light.

"I guess I spoke too soon," a younger Marine said, hanging his head.

"_Good job_, PFC, _now_ look what you did!" the other said, smacking him upside the head.

"Behave, you two," the Master Chief said. Right after scolding the immature soldiers, they were all knocked off of their feet by another shuddering impact on the station.

"……_My bad. Forgot to warn you_," Lord Hood said again over the intercom.

The Master Chief picked himself up and took noticed of his HUD. It read a posse of hostiles coming their way through the other set of blast doors. The yelp of a Marine also served to be a wakeup call. He checked his weapons and whirled around a discarded cargo module. He came face to face with a Grunt. It squealed in surprise and sprinted off the other way, behind an Elite who was busying himself with the other Marines. Ducking behind another module, he turned to the Master Chief and growled.

"Take _this_, 'Daemon'!" he bellowed as he triggered a grenade and hurled it at the Chief. He vaulted himself over the module, missing the pulsing alien bomb. It fused itself to a Marine's arm. He screamed and shook it violently.

"We're always that 'someone else' to someone else!" he hollered quickly, slurring his words as it detonated, spraying the area with blood but not body parts, oddly enough. The Chief growled and aimed both SMGs at the perpetrator. Showered with bullets, the alien's tag of the wrong soldier cost him his life. Barking to the other Marine to follow, he hurried through the blast doors through to the other adjoining Pelican Bay. He made short work of the second bay.

"_That explosion came from_ inside _the _Athens," Cortana said over the UNSC net. "_There's a similar probe registering from inside Cairo Station. Which means the Covenant brought something with them_……_a bomb_."

"……_Kill it_."

"_Sheesh, Miranda was right, for once. People with capes_ don't _have any manners_," Cortana sassed.

"_You must plunge thy sword into the heart of the Cov—_"

Cortana couldn't be bothered with an intense, metaphor-filled monologue, even if it did come from everyone's superior.

The Master Chief nodded as the trap door to the MAC Storage opened to the left of a Pelican. The opening revealed a frightened Grunt who shrieked and opened fire upon noticing the Chief's green presence. Firing in return, his motion tracker revealed several others below. Casually trampling over the small alien's body, he pressed himself against a wall and worked his way down the slope. Red lights flickered violently and machinery hissed as he took turns checking his motion tracker and his surroundings.

"Wort, _wort_, wort!"

The Master Chief twitched as a result of the startling voice. It was close, but his motion tracker read clear. Aiming his rifle in the direction he thought it came from, he moved further down the wall.

"Wort, wort, wort."

He heard a different voice, followed by some maniacal laughter, but still saw nothing. Suddenly, the Master Chief saw a blur out of his peripheral vision and pointed his rifle to a bulkhead to the far right. Gently, he eased down and scooped up a plasma grenade from a fallen Grunt. He armed it and tossed it behind the bulkhead.

"Wort, wort—aaaaaahhhhhh! My face!" he heard a frantic voice shriek as an Elite burst from his cover, active camouflage flickering. The grenade had stuck right between his eyes and he was tearing around in a homicidal manner, waving his hands like a pansy. The Chief heard a loud grunt as he witnessed _yet another_ nearly invisible Elite as the terrified alien ran smack into him. Both cried out as the grenade _finally_ detonated and blew them apart. Taking a final walk around the area, he noted that all the Elites were dead. With that, he moved through the left door to the next room. Two large, tube-like cables sat on the floor and connected to the grated armoury floor right over his position. Master Chief heard voices coming from directly above him.

"Hey, _you_! Git outta mah armoury!" he heard the familiar voice of the Gunnery Sergeant that walked him through his armour upgrades. "Wudda you wont from us, alieum?!"

"Well, like _all_ good antagonists, we are just going to tell you our secret plan with exorbitant detail because there is nothing you can do about it. We wish to know where your commanding officer is so we can take him hostage and deliver him to our noble Prophets."

"Yer crazy, ahm not tellin' you nothin'!"

"That was a double negative, so you _are_ going to tell us."

"Damn technicalities……ahm still not tellin' you!"

"Very well then, go ahead 'Śzganee."

The Master Chief crept to a closer spot behind the conduit and watched the scene unfold. The Gunnery Sergeant was being bothered by a major and a rookie Elite, the Major obviously assumed command and was interrogating the Sergeant. The rookie Elite, on said command, quickly, messily, and loudly pushed and shoved all of contents off a table. Bullets, grenades, machinery, and papers fell to the floor.

"Did I do a good job?" the rookie asked.

"Perfect. See? There will be more where _that_ came from if you do not start talking! Then you will have to spend the rest of this lovely day _inside_!"

"Because ahm gonna go _outside_ ta _play_ in the vacuum that is space?"

"……But you will have to do paperwork."

"_Nnnnnnoooooo_! Ah—hate—paperwuuuuuurk!" the Sergeant hollered as he cocked his shotgun. The rookie Elite continued knocking more and more items from their designated tables as the Sergeant fired relentlessly at the Major. The red-armoured alien seised him by the shoulders, bashed his helmeted head into the Sergeant's, and tossed his body aside like a ragdoll. Standing over the unconscious human, he drew his plasma rifle out of its holster dramatically, and pointed it at the Sergeant's head. The Master Chief had lunged for the left staircase up to the armoury, when he was grabbed from behind in a sleeper hold quite unexpectedly.

"What the hell?" he said aloud as he struggled to get out of the iron-hard grasp.

"_Now_!" his captor said. The air in front of him shimmered as he heard some more monotonous giggling as another pair of actively camouflaged Elites assaulted him. The one standing in front of him tried effortlessly to tickle him while shouting "what do you plan to do _now_, 'Daemon'?!"

The Master Chief kicked him down, his camouflage flickering and dying. He wrestled the one sleeper holding him and managed to use his own weight against him and roll him over his shoulder. Finishing them both with their dropped plasma rifles, he kicked one of the prone bodies.

"I'm-_not_-ticklish," he said solemnly. Stealthily stepping around the bodies, he moved upward as he heard the sound of the Major's rifle. Having to witness a fellow soldier's head disintegrate, he challenged the Major with his still dual-wielded plasma rifles. The good old two-on-one rule still proved true as the tall warrior stood barely a chance against the angst-ridden Spartan.

"What is going on, 'Kowalskee?" another rookie asked, vaulting himself over the last and farthest table with one hand. Upon noticing the Master Chief, he held his hands in the air in surrender. "No, no, _please_! Do not shoot! My uncle is very sick! Well……_one_ of my uncles is very sick."

"……You're lying," the Master Chief said.

"……Yes," the Elite answered.

"You know what I wish? I wish you weren't a liar. _That's_ what I wish," the Chief said, and with that, opened up an unholy plasma fire barrage on the unarmed Elite. Poor critter never stood a chance. Eyeing the shotgun and taking a moment to reflect on just how handy the thing was, he discarded his plasma rifles and pumped shells into "The New and Improved the Clyde". Paying a short and forced eulogy for the Gunnery Sergeant with the missing head, he continued on his way as another door opened for him and led him out to, low and behold, yet another recreation area. This room teamed with plasma cannons and more crazy extraterrestrials.

After a grueling ten minutes, with his motion tracker reading blank, the Chief jumped off of a platform, took out "Moby", and headed for the blast doors to the far left. The scenery was the usual, flaming metal shards, sparking control units, prone bodies, and stairs, what his very life was composed of. To his surprise, another plasma cannon stood at attention as two Grunts surrounded it. The gunner barely had enough time to decide whether to shoot or not before the human bashed both their skulls in with the butt of "Moby". He climbed the stairs, like the current routine he had been following, and through a set of doors from behind which he could hear a loud and distinct voice……Miranda "Starla" Keyes.

_This'll prove to be interesting_, the Chief thought to himself as he passed through the doors. A Navy buddy, as well as Johnson, were taking cover behind some cargo modules; Miranda was behind a communications panel and shouting a colourful variety of curses at the three Elites who were blocking their exit. She was clutching an SMG in one hand as she shook her fist.

"Don't _make me_ come over there and bust out some SMG on y'ass! Stop actin' like babbies and come out 'in fight!" she screamed.

"Miranda! Shut up!" Johnson hissed.

"_Babbies_?" the other naval officer asked.

"_Starla_! _It's Starla for Oden's sake_!" she answered none too quietly.

"What seems to be the problem here?" the Master Chief said coolly, squatting near the Navy buddy.

"I was sitting here _mindin' my own business_ when _they_ show up and they're all like 'you can't get on your ship without payin' a toll!' and I was like 'frigate that! Let's fight!' _and_ _then_ they think it's _so_ cool to sit there and _dual-wield_ plasma rifles when I only have this SMG, which sucks to the power of ten!"

The Master Chief didn't respond, he only looked at Miranda through his mirrored visor with an astonishing amount of confusion.

"It's like she's speaking another language," the naval officer said.

"Long story short, we can't get past 'em," Johnson said.

"You have serious anger management problems, ma'am," the Chief said to Miranda.

"I _do not_ have anger management problems."

"I see your classes haven't been helping either."

"I _hate_ my anger management classes."

"I'd be glad to give you some help, if you'll let me," he said, producing a frag grenade.

"Yes," the Navy buddy nodded.

"I don't need _your_ help, Master Chizzle," Miranda sneered. No sooner had she replied, a dozen plasma streaks sizzled past her head. She immediately pressed against the communications panel again. "……Okay, maybe Uncle Tom and his Navy pal need _a little_ help."

"I have talked it over with my associates and we thought up a compromise!" a deep voice called out. The plasma fired ceased as the humans peered out from their designated hiding spots and eyed the Elites. "Since you do not have any money, we are willing to let you on your ship if you hand over 'the Daemon'!"

"Are they talking to you or me?" Miranda asked.

"It's what they call me."

"That's cute……okay!" Miranda answered, poising herself behind the Master Chief, and pushing him as hard as should could. The Spartan didn't budge. He didn't even have to use any force.

"……This is kinda fun," he said after a good thirty seconds of shoving.

"Move, Master Obese!" she grunted. Giving up, she grabbed a crow bar that was lying next to an empty cargo module, jammed it under one of his boots, and tried to pry him off of the ground. Eventually, she gave up on that too and whipped the crow bar over the railing and onto the next floor with a bloodcurdling battle cry.

"I'm glad to see you love me so much," the Chief said.

"I hate you because you're fat and you're fat because I hate you."

Unbeknownst to the others, the Navy buddy who was sitting behind the first cargo module had just finished painting a frag grenade to look like a chocolate chip cookie. Standing up, he held out the "grenookie" for all to see.

"How about if we give you a cookie?!" he hollered.

The Elite trio huddled for a minute and then came back up. "What is a cookie?!"

"It's good, trust me! It's the rarest of all delicacies on Earth!"

"What does it taste like?!"

"……What's your favourite flavour?!"

"I am rather partial to nobnobenhas, which Covenant sources unknown, has told me it is the equivalent to human toffee!"

"……Okay, it tastes like that!"

"Hand it over!" the apparent leader hollered, reaching his arms out.

"Here she comes!" the Navy buddy answered, pinning the "grenookie" and pitching it to the waiting Elites.

"Success!" the warrior said as he tried to jam it down his throat. It made it into his mouth before it decided to explode, making pulp out of his head.

"……That was money," Miranda said to the Navy buddy.

"I was an art major," he declared proudly.

"Hoity-toi," Miranda commented.

"Can we finish off the rest o' those bastids so we can get into the goddamn ship?" Johnson requested.

"_Fine_! Come on team," Miranda said as she picked up her SMG.

"You lied to us……" another Elite said, his face set in a disappointed stare.

"I know," the Master Chief said, firing a good few bursts from "Moby".

"There's one hiding behind that containah!" Johnson said. He threw down his battle rifle and leaped behind it. "Come 'ere you mutha!" they heard him growl as an Elite let out a violated roar, followed by a series of groans and a snap.

"……What the frigate?" Miranda asked the Chief as she turned to look at him. He shrugged. Johnson stepped out a few seconds later, wiping his hands off on his uniform.

"Ma'am, your chariot awaits," he said with a nod.

"Ma'am is for old people," Miranda snobbishly retorted as she rested her SMG on her shoulder.

"It's better than what _I was gonna_ call you," Johnson retorted.

"Not too much time on the bomb, Chief," Cortana advised on the communications gear. He hurried through the large door to the right and came to an airlock containing three massive cargo boxes.

"Leave with my blessings, child!" Miranda called after him, holding out her hand.

Almost immediately after he entered, the door to the outside of the station opened. It produced two Elites with light blue armour and jet packs. The Chief steadied his aim and let loose with a dozen bursts on their position. The bastards were tough, though, taking every opportunity to exchange fire, float to another location, or hide behind the boxes. He stood up and tried to fire at them again, but took a brace of plasma bolts and felt his shields flare. Ducking down and hoping they wouldn't advance, he waited for the alarm to shut off and his MJOLNIR to recharge. Meter reading full, he stood up again and pitched a plasma grenade at one of the Rangers. The Elite roared in surprise and hit the low ceiling as he rose upward. The splash from the grenade managed to drop the shields of the second warrior. The Chief fired at him twice and finally put the other alien down.

"_Boarders have reached the control center!_" Cortana advised as the automatic doors slid open._ "They have a bomb_."

"_Cortana_……_aliens_ ate _my coffee cake_," Lord Hood asked, his voice heavy with sheer desperation.

"_I can disable it, but I'll need the Chief's help to make contact with the detonator_."

"_The damned spaceman waltzed in here and _ate _my coffee cake_."

The Spartan spent a good amount of time speeding around cargo containers and dealing with another pair of Ranger Elites, all while attempting to listen in on Cortana and Hood's banter.

There was a door on the other side of the dock and he found a couple of Marines sauntering about.

"Hey, Chief! What's up?" one leatherneck said.

The recession in fire came to a halt as one Marines shouted, "look! Up there!"

Winged, insect-like enemies flew up from the elevator and buzzed around the room. The Master Chief steadied his rifle as best he could, but the damned bugs were constantly on the move, and he placed a few good misses. It didn't help that the things were pretty good with needlers too.

"Damn bugs!" a different Marine shouted. The team managed to kill two, but there were still six left. Vicious, pale yellow blood smeared the walls after every hit they endured. It took a full five minutes to exterminate all of the Drones, but no lives were lost in the process.

"_There are thirteen cruisers on the way. I'm goin' loud!_" Cortana said. With that, the Chief heard a mechanical clank and saw the elevator start to rise upward. He moved over to the right, taking cover behind more shipping containers and watching as the oncoming elevator was packed with Grunts and a scattering of Elites. The Marines burst from their hiding and stormed the elevator. The Master Chief flanked the Covenant from the right carefully.

A Grunt in red armour noticed him and yelled, "scared, 'Daemon'?!" The rest of the posse turned their attention to the Chief, which gave the Marines a wonderful opportunity to ambush them while their backs were turned. The Marines, however, were a trifle slow and caused the Master Chief to deal with his shields dropping numerous times. He loved them to death but they cramped his style too often. Finally, with the Covenant troupe dead, he was free to access the control to the elevator, because the bomb was clearly _not _on that floor. No sooner had he hit the controls, Cortana began to chew him out.

"_Where are you going?! The bomb is right here_!" she said.

"_What_ are you talking about? No it isn't," the Master Chief replied. "I searched the entire room."

"……_I don't want to talk about it_," she answered.

It was a mildly lengthy and boring ride down but it had a great view of the gears and mechanisms to the MAC gun. The Marines had started jumping in unison and it was starting to get on the Spartan's nerves.

"What are you guys doing?" he inquired.

"Well……isn't this what yer supposed ta do in an elevator?" one leatherneck answered, seeing as the others looked guilty and kept silent.

The Master Chief shook his head and kept his glance forward. They started doing it again once they figured he'd lost interest. With a lurch and clank, the elevator stopped and docked, and the Chief was free to pass through some heavy doors and out onto the surface of the station again.

"_The first carrier completely ignored us_," Cortana said to Lord Hood over the Chief's communications gear.

"_Well_ that's _a little expected_," Lord Hood replied.

"……_He's a dead man the next time he tries to transfer important UNSC files_," Cortana concluded.

"_Okay_, _okay_, _I apologise. Cortana, get to the MAC gun and fire at will_," Hood ordered.

Meanwhile, the Chief was locked in another courageous battle with three Rangers. He managed to stick one with a plasma grenade, the other committed suicide by way of Hari Keri, and the final soldier was sucked into the engine of a small passing ship.

_Good enough for me_, he thought to himself as he reloaded, checked his grenade supply, and moved up a series of raised platforms. His supply of grenades was low, he took note. Various parts of the MAC gun pulsed upward and downward in front of him after an interval of a few seconds.

"_That carrier_……_it blew through_ Malta's _field and is headed straight for Earth! Oh, head through the service door to the left, by the way_," she paused to inform the Spartan.

The Master Chief obediently did as he was told and made for the doors. After the airlocks were secure and made loud hissing noises, Cortana gave him some advice about the bomb. He felt the floor rise underneath him.

"Just so you know, quite a few Elites are guarding the bomb. I mean it's a huge posse, you can't miss it, it's just, just so vast, I can barely dis—"

"—Yeah, yeah, that's what he said," the Chief answered. Cortana went silent. "Sorry. That was for you, Lovell."

Arming "Moby" the battle rifle and making sure his last grenades were ready, he slowly advanced around the corner and saw his target, and somewhere in the great beyond, the spirit of Ensign William "Shockabilly" Lovell was happy. If you're wondering, yes, they put that on his memorial stone.

There were seven Elites, three majors and four minors. None of them had their weapons at the ready, none were patrolling the area, and none of them seemed to care what was going on. The bomb, in question, was black, shaped somewhat like a kiszka, and covered with spines. It seemed as though the soldiers had gotten into one of the UNSC frozen food lockers because they had taken the liberty of spearing uncooked hot dogs on the spines.

"Aha! Soon the Hierarch's Ceremonial Wienie Roast will commence and no one, not even 'the Daemon', shall stop it!" one of the majors declared, climbing on top of a COBB container. The other warriors roared in agreement.

"Wienie roast? What are they talking about? This must be some sort of metaphor for the destruction of Cairo Station," Cortana said.

"_Or_ they're just hungry. How come you can't ever be practical?" the Master Chief added, activating his last plasma grenade.

"……I don't have practical algorithms."

He whipped the grenade near the center of the posse and ran in firing. Chaos ensued as his grenade went off followed by _another_ explosion as an Elite threw one of his own. Bullets and plasma fire stuttered through the air as Master Chief assumed an almost juggernaut appearance. _That_ bit of fun ended when he was punched in the chest with a plasma bolt and heard his suit alarm go off. He ducked behind a pillar from the bridge above the bay and waited on baited breath for the meter to read full.

"Kill 'the Daemon'! He will impede the Hierarch's Wienie Roast!"

_I'm gonna impede more than your wienie roast_, the Master Chief thought as a glance at his meter proved the point. He aimed his bursts at the crimson-armoured Elite on the COBB container, knocked him off, and finished him with a final blow as he made a sweep around it. Three rookies plus two majors were dead. Having run out of bullets for "Moby" he picked up two plasma rifles and burned a hole through the last blue-armoured Elite.

"Worthless cur!" a surprise Elite insulted from behind him. The Chief whipped around to face him, plucked a wienie off of the bomb, and hurled it at the warrior. It hit him squarely between the eyes and dramatically knocked him off of his feet. He thudded to the grated floor loudly. The bomb started beeping rapidly and a button on top began pulsing red.

"_Me_—inside your head—_now_," Cortana instructed.

Gently and coolly, the Master Chief touched it and all noise and light ceased.

"How much time was left?" he asked Cortana.

"You don't want to know," she answered. "Let me try to get a hold of the Commander, and I use that term lightly."

Commander Miranda "Starla" Keyes and her crew had already begun their descent to Earth. She was spinning around in her Commander's chair while her Lieutenants Vincent Oleander and Henry Dalloway manned the navigational controls. She was occupying her time with events much more important, like singing Johnny Cash songs and ignoring everyone. Johnny Cash was the patron saint of the Keyes family.

"When I was just a baby, my mama told me son, always be a good boy don't ever play with guns—"

"—_Commander Keyes, what's the story_—" Cortana asked.

"—But I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die—"

"—_Commander Keyes_!"

"—When I hear that whistle blowin', I hang my head and cry—"

"—_Keyes_!"

"Except that I'm Miranda Keyes……and I _don't_ cry."

"_COMMANDER KEYES_!"

"_What_?! What the frigate do you _want_, Cortana?!" Miranda hollered, jerking out of her stupor.

"_What's your current position_?"

"Tch, somewhere in _space_," Miranda answered. She _wasn't_ going to be fooled by the trick question.

"……_Okay then. The Chief has disarmed the bomb_."

"Um, _yay_? What do you want me to do? Give him a trophy, or a cookie, or a cookie trophy?" Miranda answered, tossing her cap over to a coat rack and missing.

"_Okay, maybe I'll just contact Lord Hood_," Cortana said.

"You do that," Miranda said. Johnson appeared by her chair in full Marine uniform. "Wow……quick change artist," she said.

"Thank you," he answered, lighting a cigar.

"The first carrier's shields are down," Vincent said.

"Ooh!" Miranda said with much enthusiasm. "Lord Hood!" she said.

"_Yes, my child_?" his voice answered over the frequency.

"The first carrier's shields are down, I'm takin' in out!"

"No, _you're_ not. _Don't fire anything. Just stay en route to the city like we planned_."

"_Aw_, come _on_! Why not?"

"_Don't argue, just do it_."

"_Fine_!" Miranda said, sitting back in her chair roughly and pouting.

The Master Chief grabbed two of the spines on the bomb and dragged it over to the shuttle bay elevator.

"_Sir, permission to leave the station_?" he said.

"……_Why_?"

"_To give the Covenant back their bomb_," he answered.

"_Hm, let me think_……yes," Hood said.

"That's a horrible idea, it's crazy," Cortana said.

"Too bad."

"Fortunately for both of us……I like crazy," she said.

Ignoring her sensual reaction, he punched a button at the bottom level after his elevator ride and held on. The door opened slowly. The bomb, because of its massive weight, slid a few feet and then flew out as the door opened.

"I don't think Carlos is going to be happy about what you did to his floor," Cortana advised.

"No one cares about the maintenance crew," the Chief replied as he headed down towards a Covenant cruiser that was passing directly underneath the station. A bright stream of light beamed out of the side of the ship as its tactical laser tore apart a human cruiser. The last of the return fire rocked the enemy ship and managed to crack open one of the engine shafts. The Chief aimed the bomb for the slight opening and managed to sneak through. Pulling himself down towards the bomb's activation button, he squeezed it again, stood up, and kicked himself off of the device. Mere moments later, the ship, with its new cargo, imploded, sending shrapnel and alien metal elegantly twisting through the vacuum surrounding Earth. He had been gracefully swimming through space, when he collided harshly with the top of _In Amber Clad_.

"_Yes_! Ten points!" Vincent said, standing up and doing a victory dance that involved him putting his hands behind his head, gyrating obscenely, and performing seizure-like pelvic thrusts.

"Okay,_ never_ do that again……and that's a direct order," Miranda said.

"For a brick, he flew pretty good," Johnson said.

"'Well'. It's 'well'."

"What, ma'am?"

"For a brick he flew pretty 'well'."

"Thanks. I was afraid I'd be kicked out of the Covenant grammar bee."

"_Hey, no hitchhikers! Find your own ride, hippy_!" Miranda then said over the Master Chief's frequency.

"……_Thanks for being so gracious_," he replied, prying himself out of the ship and finding an entrance near his position.


	5. Chapter 5: Ask Me What I Did Today

**Chapter V: Ask Me What I Did Today**

**11:2:52 (Military Calendar)/ UNSC Frigate **_**In Amber Clad**_**, en route to New Mombasa, even though it doesn't want to be.**

_In Amber Clad_ neared the metropolitan city of New Mombasa, newly refurbished and rearing to go. The sun was low in the sky and a light haze swirled around the streets as the windows of gargantuan skyscrapers reflected the sun's bright rays, shining triumphantly over the city.

Marine reconnoisseurs on a certain building listened as their squad leader played the "Peer Gynt Suite No.1" (more commonly known as "Morning Mood") on a flute.

"Sir……that was beautiful, sir," one of his men complimented.

"……_I know_," the flautist whispered emotionally, shutting his eyes and gripping his instrument.

The tranquility was soon destroyed as a team of three Pelicans rushed in and the enormous frigate docked over the city.

"_The_ _message just repeats: Regret, Regret, Regret_," Cortana said.

"_What the frigate kinda message is_ that?" Miranda barked. "These aliens are such smacktards."

"_Apparently they have a lot of past regrets they want to get off of their chests before we own them_," Henry suggested.

"_Oden hates that answer_."

"Dear Humanity, we _regret_ bein' alien bastids, we _regret_ comin' to Earth, and we most definitely regret the fact that the Corps just blew up our raggedy-ass fleet!" Johnson said.

"Who-rah!" the two pilot Marines answered simultaneously.

"No, _they aren't_ real _regrets_, _it's the name of one of their religious leaders, a Prophet_," Cortana corrected.

"_Okay here's the plan. Get down there and find that carrier, we're gonna _make_ that Prophet tell us what he's doing here_……_oh, will we make him_……_we are gonna make him tell us_ everything……_I need a cigarette_," Lord Hood instructed.

The Master Chief was stationed inside of a Pelican by now and he watched the buildings and street corners whiz by as they skimmed over rooftops and past colourful billboards. Johnson accompanied him and barked out orders to his men as they suited up, checked their weapons, and prepared for battle on city streets. Finally, some home turf. It was both relieving and terrifying. Johnson was just about to continue, when a beastly Covenant war machine came into view. It was vaguely insectoid and crawled slowly on four mechanical legs.

"What the hell is _that_?" Johnson yelled as the machine turned to face them, paused, and began charging a green, fuel-rod-like energy weapon. It fired on their Pelican, knocking the dropship right out of the sky. It rolled on its back, caught the roof of a building, and crashed to the streets below in a ball of flaming metal and carnage. The Master Chief remembered the propulsion sending him backwards and his head smacking into something, then ensuing darkness and numbness……

He was awakened shortly after by Johnson's harsh barking and Cortana's sensual voice.

"Shake it off, Marines!" he hollered to everyone.

"Blink if you can hear me, Chief," Cortana said.

Vision blurred, he blinked quite a few times to regain his sight, the Master Chief fully regained consciousness and eyesight. He picked up "Moby", dusted himself off, and stood at the ready.

"Clear the landing zone, _let's go_!" Johnson continued. Two of the Marines didn't make it, which was clear by the two distorted and bloodied bodies that sprawled on the ground, but the other three were up and about, shaken but alright. They were huddled around an archway straight ahead so the Chief assumed that was the direction he needed to head for.

"You okay, Chief?" a Marine asked.

"Fine," he answered, slowing up once he neared the archway. A peripheral glance at his motion tracker warned the Master Chief that there were Covenant close by, but he continued on through the archway, and met a Grunt coming up a small flight of stairs. It yelled in response and dropped its plasma pistol, allowing the Chief the perfect opportunity to cave in his skull.

"C'mon! Let's go, Marines!" Johnson ordered as they followed the Spartan down the stairs and out into a courtyard. A sweep of the area confirmed that it was occupied by a number of Jackals.

"We got Jackals!" Johnson advised his troops. As soon as they began firing on the shield-wielding creatures, a Phantom dropship loomed over the courtyard, casting its shadow over the small enclosure. The Marines scattered as it dropped a load of soldiers, its plasma cannon scorching the yard. They headed for an abandoned building, up the stairs, and out to its second level balcony. Two dead Marines made their final resting place the bottom floor, but they had left some choice weapons for the new squad. The Chief traded his SMG for a magnum.

"I see 'em, inna courtyard!" one Marine shouted.

"Up high, too!" Another advised, pointing to where an Elite stood on a roof, making antagonizing faces and generally taunting them. The human soldiers positioned themselves on the abandoned building's walkout and gave the invading troops all they could. The Covenant poured from over rooftops, through crumbling archways, and leaked through dark alleys. Manning a turret and hosing the area with 12.9x99 mm shells, the Chief commanded most of the courtyard, however, left the higher-ranking enemies up on the roofs, which was a hit or miss task for the Marines.

"Don't _make me_ take off mah belt!" the Master Chief heard Johnson yell through a moment of cease fire. "Buggers! Over the rooftop!" he cautioned. The heavy fire from the swarm of Drones caused the Chief to retreat to the inside of the building in order to allow his shields to recharge. Jamming a fresh magazine into his rifle, he burst from cover and unleashed hell upon the bugs.

Clearing out the courtyard and making sure it stayed clear took about twenty minutes. They had lost one soldier, a hefty amount of ammunition, and another Marine had lost his dignity once a Grunt had sneaked into the building and began humping his leg on a dare from his buddies.

Static crackled over the communications gear and Johnson was quick at answer it. "_Uh, my Pelican's too fat to touch down in the courtyard. Um, I—see a clearing on the other side of town. I'll meet you there_," the pilot notified.

"I hear ya. We'll get a satchel on the gate," Johnson replied.

"Why are fat jokes still funny? Seriously, I love them!"

"They're not that funny. What if someone was obese 'cuz they had diabetus or there was somethin' wrong with 'em?" Johnson inquired.

"Then it's even funnier!" the Marine guffawed.

"_I_ have diabetes," the Master Chief said.

The whole platoon went quiet.

"……Oh……" the leatherneck said, glancing at his feet. "……Sorry," he apologised, his eyes returning to the Spartan's mirrored visor.

"……Don't you forget it," Chief answered, moving on.

"Where they niggaz at?!" a very low and very menacing voice asked.

"Uh oh," Johnson said. He hefted up his S2 AM sniper's rifle and pointed it at the gate. "We got Hunters. Stand back and let the Chief show you how it's done," he barked.

A pair of the armour-plated behemoths stormed into the courtyard from a small alley near the main gate. The first Hunter was wearing a glittering collection of gold chains, a baseball cap with an embroidered "M" with a sock logo, and had the phrase "Hi, Hater!" written on his shield accompanied by a human hand print. The second was wearing a black beanie, an LED belt buckle that scrolled "Life is Pain!", and had a beautifully air-brushed portrait of Benjamin Franklin brandishing two magnums and dressed in a rather urban-influenced outfit on his shield.

"Mebbe dey moved out," the other Hunter said.

"Naw, they here, I smell oppression," the other replied as his arm-mounted fuel-rod cannon pulsed green.

The Master Chief had crept quietly down the staircase to the ground and sneaked around planters, trying to find the perfect angle to take down the massive aliens with. Drawing the magnum he had picked up, he parted a plant's broad leaves with his hand, cocked the pistol, aimed it right at the orange flesh that wasn't armoured, and pulled the trigger several times. To his utter surprise, the Hunter didn't topple over dead. Turning around, he growled and began charging his fuel-rod cannon.

"Wait, I want a redo," the Chief said, angered by the breech in Covenant-killing etiquette.

Ducking down and missing the projectile, he felt the heat and radiation wash over him. Spotting a dropped beam rifle on the opposite side of the courtyard, he sprinted for it, hoping a more powerful weapon would do the trick. Retrieving it and dodging another two fuel-rods, he aimed the tiny crosshair over the orange wormflesh and fired.

"Muthafucka!" the beast hollered as he toppled over, sending a few Covenant cargo modules tumbling.

"Da-yum!" his bond brotha screamed. Checking to make sure he was truly dead, he roared in utter anguish and began tearing around the courtyard, crashing over planters, tossing cargo modules like empty cans, and cracking the sides of buildings. By now, a Marine had panicked because of the Hunter's frenzy, and grabbed the turret, raining the beast with bullets. It roared in defiance after a second of pelting, then reared and aimed its fuel-rod cannon at the platoon. The Master Chief chose this moment to burst from his hiding and bury another particle into his unprotected flank. Firing two for fun and to secure the fact that it was dead, the choice proved to be an asset and the monster fell forward, one shoulder smashing into the side of the building the Marines were concealed in.

"_That's_ how you play the game!" Johnson hollered as the other leathernecks celebrated.

"_That_ was because we're on the same team……_not_ because I care about you," the Chief said to the soldier who slandered diabetics, letting the long rifle cool off and switching back to his BR55.

"_How are you doing_?" Cortana asked another Marine platoon leader.

"_We're all right, but our pilot didn't make it. Killed on impact_," was the grim response.

"_Alright. We'll come pick you up_," she answered.

"_Yo, Johnson! Need you on the next Pelican_," Miranda ordered over the battle net.

"_Ma'am_?" Johnson answered.

"_Don't aaaaaask no questions_," she declared.

"_Fine, ma'am_."

"_What did I tell you about that_?" she threatened.

"_Alright,_ sir," he mocked with chuckle.

"_Imunna_ _bump you back to start without pickin' up two hundred dollars_!"

"……_Which_ _game are you talking about? Sorry! or Monopoly_?" Cortana interjected.

"I'm _talkin' about the game of Soldiering Life! And you stay outta this. You touch yourself when you're alone_," Miranda retorted. "_Anyway, my Pelicans are gonna start airlifting artillery, human targets, and other goodies like that into the city. You'll need an escort that isn't afraid of a little hostile ground fire. I suggest the Master Chief because he's really obese and can absorb the bullets. Besides, I probably couldn't airlift him_," she instructed.

"Understood. Chief, good luck, and……have a weight shake," Johnson chuckled.

"Wow, you guys are so funny I actually forgot to laugh all together," he said.

The squad moved out down the alley the Hunters came through, passing pieces of rubble, burning debris, and blood slicked walls until the alley came to an opening that was swarming with Jackals and Drones.

"The only thing worse than a Jackal is a Jackal with a sniper rifle!" a Marine called out, pointing to one that leaped behind a cargo module.

"Yeah, but the only thing better than a good friend is a good friend with a bag of M&Ms!" another soldier said, producing a bag of candy.

"Sweetness!" the first answered, accepting a few.

The Master Chief pressed himself against the back of another module and scooped up another fallen Covenant beam rifle. Slinging "Moby" for a moment, he waited until a short burst of Drone plasma fire ceased. Dropping to one knee, he used the rifle scope and took out two of three snipers, one Drone, and the Major Jackal.

"There's still one left, Chief," a Marine had enough nerve to say, popping a few candies into his mouth.

"I'm doing the best I can," he answered. Waiting for another plasma hail, he peered out and tried to find the last sniper. Luckily, he was dull enough to give away his position by sending out a beam of purple energy that nearly grazed the Chief's shoulder. Immediately, he spotted the perpetrator and sent another beam in response. It hit dead on and the Jackal fell to the street below. He then hefted the rifle upward and helped to take out the remaining Drones while the other soldiers focused on finishing their candy.

"Thanks, guys," he sighed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want some?" a young devildog inquired.

"Alas, he cannot. He's diabetic," another informed mournfully, restraining him with an arm. The Chief didn't even bother to answer.

With all of the hostiles dead, the team moved up into the clearing. Hearing the sounds of battle in the distance, they hung a left with the Chief in the lead, and he ran smack into an Elite that was patrolling with his team of Grunts. The surrounding alleys and streets were loaded with Covenant, some of which were being chased by the UNSC, others who were using and abusing the humans with unrelenting power, and all of them tried to take a crack at slaying "the Daemon".

After taking out the first Elite and his platoon, he took a short break in a doorway, allowing his shields time to recharge, and surveying the next task. He saw a pack of Grunts come screaming and sobbing around a corner, being pursued by two Marines. He also saw another being beaten around by an Elite with a plasma rifle. The Spartan chose to help him first, seeing as it was the obvious choice. The young leatherneck was on the ground and bleeding as the Chief saved him from what could have very well been a long and painful death. Tackling the tall Elite and giving him a taste of his own medicine with "Moby", he got off of the bully and helped the soldier up. Half carrying him to a back alley, he set him down and looked him in the eye.

"You gonna be alright?" he inquired.

"Yeah—I'll be fine," he panted in response.

"Hey, did you know that Chief's diabetic?" the obnoxious Marine continued to inform his injured comrade.

"Really?"

The Master Chief headed back into battle, weapon at the ready, and an annoyed attitude in tow. It appeared that only Grunts were left by now and he let the other Marines take care of them. Heading through another street, he came out to the front of the Hotel Zanzibar and found an Elite in silver armour had pinned three Marines near the outdoor café with a plasma cannon. The Chief took the long way around, causing some soldiers to become rather disgruntled, but took out the Elite from behind and destroyed the cannon so it couldn't be used again.

"Took you guys long enough," a Corporal spat sarcastically.

"The rest of us are on the other side. But in order to get to them, we'll have to go through the Haunted Hotel," another said.

"You can check _in_, but you may _never_ check _out_," the Corporal added in a spooky voice. Indeed, the hotel was in poor shape. The front doors were torn down completely, furniture was tossed everywhere, and the lighting was awful, if there was any functioning at all.

"Hold on a sec, I have to check my blood glucose," the Chief said, producing a meter.

"It even talks to him!" the soldier who told everyone about the Chief's condition announced. The Spartan continued to ignore him as he replaced the meter with a shot of insulin.

"But I don't wanna go in there!" a Private complained.

"_Here, I'll sing you a motivational song that I wrote in the last twelve seconds_……" Miranda said over the comm. gear. "_I even found my dad's keytar so here it goes. Livin' it up at the Hotel Zan-zi-ba-ar! Such a lovely place, such a lovely place, such a lovely place. Hangin' it loose at the Hotel Zan-zi-ba-ar! Such a lovely place, such a lovely place, such a lovely_ _dump_," she finished.

"That was truly beautiful," the Chief said sarcastically.

"_Yep, it's a cover. Do you feel better, Marine_?"

"……Now I have the courage to go inside?" the Private answered.

"_Excellent! Move it up, move it out_!" she said and then the radio cut out.

If they thought the outside and what they managed to see looked eerie, going inside was a differently story _entirely_. The place was filled with a dull silence, the kind that feels like a smothering fire blanket. There was no lighting, except for maybe one flickering bank here and there. The Master Chief was forced to use his flashlight; although he was regretting it for fear that Covenant troops lurking in the shadows might see it before he saw them. From within the bowels of the hotel, he could hear a strange but somewhat comical moan. Further advance and thorough search of the lobby revealed a lone Grunt sitting on the ground trying to sound like a ghost. Peering around a corner and finally coming into contact with the beast, it looked up at him and cocked his head.

"……I am ghost!" it hollered as he brought up his needler. The Master Chief brought his battle rifle down on the Grunt's head, figuring the pathetic alien wasn't worth three precious bullets.

"No. You are not ghost. They're a shitty band, anyway."

At least a half dozen more of the stocky aliens hauled ass out of the hotel corridors, screaming like lunatics or firing randomly. The Marines moved up, aiding to the assault.

"Yee-haw! _Run_ you sons 'a bitches!" a leatherneck yelled, studding a Grunt with bullets. The Master Chief checked his HUD, two red dots were still present. Arming himself, he inched closer to the exit at the opposite end of the hallway. Two Elites in blue armour stormed the exit door, trudged over the pile of dead Grunts, and unleashed plasma hell on the team. The Chief primed a plasma grenade and quickly whipped it at the monsters, hoping it flew accurately, seeing as he hadn't had enough time to retrieve a pair of plasma rifles he had spotted on the ground. It went off with a flash of blue-white and screams. There were a few stutters from Marine battle rifles, but he ceased to hear any alien noises. Stepping out from behind a small wall, he continued to his objective.

Outside, things were pretty quiet, until a Marine hollered something incoherent, and a Phantom began to fire on their position. Pressing his back to a pillar outside of the hotel, he waited for the white orbs of plasma to stop raining, watched one soldier burn alive, and came out from his cover. He could see a fresh load of alien troops drop from the ship on the balcony. It wasn't a terrible amount of soldiers, but they were accompanied by a Major Elite in crimson armour. He hoisted himself on top of a purple cargo module and scanned the area.

The Chief followed the Marines out to the enemy position.

"Suck on this, squid head!"

"Ow……that _hurt_!"

"Hey, _alien_! Why don't you turn down the suck?!" Was the rather comedic exchange between a human and the Elite. The Master Chief was actually having fun listening to the other soldiers tease and taunt the Covenant.

After the hotel and its grounds were secure, a Warthog arrived to offer them some slight cover and hasten the pace. The Chief took the wheel, waited for the others to board and the thumbs-up from the gunner, and burnt rubber as he skidded out of the Hotel Zanzibar's back porch. A downed Pelican flanked them to the right as the LRV sped down the beach shores.

"The highest concentrations of soldiers are by the carrier……I don't think they want _you_ to get on board," Cortana advised.

"Figures……they're afraid I'll crash the party," he answered.

"That bridge up ahead is the most direct route to the center of the city," she continued.

"Roger," he said with a nod.

"Ah, I love the beach," the passenger said.

"I hope you brought a suit, mate," the gunner answered.

"……Are people with diabetes allowed to swim?"

"Okay, look. Stop with the diabetes thing, alright?"

"But you intimidate me already and I just want to know."

"The carrier is launching waves of pods heading in your direction," Cortana warned as the Chief passed to the second shoreline, preparing for the next brutal beach assault.

"Gotcha," he answered, turning his attention back to the mission.

The next half-hour was spent maneuvering an LRV full of whiney Marines along enemy-covered beaches, avoiding constant beam rifle particles pelting their vehicle, Ghost fire, and advancing to the place where the Prophet's carrier was believed to have settled.

Parking behind an unoccupied structure similar to the one on the previous beach, he used the rocket launcher he had found earlier as well as a cargo module with two beam rifles docked inside. Using the rocket launcher to effectively take out six Ghosts before wasting all of the ammo, he wrenched a beam rifle from its station and began to focus on a Jackal sniper from atop a grav battlement near the entrance to a service tunnel that led to the city beyond. He missed three times, but finally managed a clean headshot. He also finished off three stray Elites who were hiding among fallen cargo modules.

Careful to assume that the beach was now clear, he made his way to the tunnel beyond on foot, seeing as his parked Ghost had been apprehended by a cheeky Elite. The area was indeed clear and he didn't run into any more trouble as he climbed over some debris and stood at the mouth of the tunnel.

"This tunnel leads to the bridge. It's full of rats, if you know what I mean," Cortana said.

Luckily, the Spartan came upon a fully operational Ghost sitting a few feet from his position. Another Warthog sped from another tunnel and quickly gained the lead.

"Race ya there!" the gunner shouted.

Quickly climbing aboard, he set off through the tunnel.

It was a complete wreck. Abandoned vehicles were either missing parts, bent out of shape, untouched, or ablaze with flame. The lights indicating road striping were flickering or shattered and gaping holes had been punched through the concrete here and there. The Chief followed the Warthog through a left turn and prepared himself as he witnessed the gunner firing wildly at a Covenant position up ahead.

"Analyzing Covenant tactical channels……they're surprised. I don't think they expected us to be here. Not you and me, _all_ of us. _Humanity_, on Earth. Odd, I know, but it explains why they came with such a small fleet," Cortana explained.

"What do you mean by 'us' and 'humanity'?" he answered grimly as he returned fire on a plasma turret.

"Do you remember our pact? _I_ wouldn't make fun of your diabetes and _you_ would let me refer to myself as a human?"

As soon as it exploded, a team of Jackals the Warthog had missed emerged from behind the wreckage of a Peterbilt and opened fire. His suit's alarm started to ring as soon as he took one too many plasma bolts. He moved the Ghost behind the truck and waited for them to regenerate.

"Yes. I suppose I have. But I could have swore I heard you chuckle at the Marine's last comment about the swimming thing."

As soon as they did, he tore through their shields with dual plasma cannons. He turned and hurried to catch up with the Warthog on his motion tracker.

Once the Covenant had been disposed of, he followed the tarnished LRV out to the bridge. There were Marines waiting at the end, many were wounded or dead, and only three stood on their feet awaiting orders or sizing up the Scarab as they watched it walk right into the city.

"……Hey," a wounded soldier gasped, his breathing irregular as he held his side and looked up at the Chief. The Spartan stepped right over him without any regard at all and approached another who was watching the Scarab.

"Blew right through us," she said over her shoulder. "Fifty cals, rockets, didn't do a thing. We managed to take out their first tank, though. It's over there," she said, gesturing to the left. A large tank that looked frighteningly similar to the Stay-Puft mascot from Ghostbusters sat torn and covered in black flak against a partially destroyed skyscraper.

"……Dear god," the Master Chief remarked.

"Where's the rest of your platoon?" Sergeant Johnson asked as he appeared.

"Wasted, Sarge," she answered.

"And _we'll_ be _too_, if we don't get the hell outta here!" a frantic leatherneck said. He made a move to run, but Johnson grabbed him by the shoulder.

"You hit, Marine?"

"……N-No, sir."

"_Then stay put_! They say the good lord works in mysterious ways……_but not today_! This here is sixty-six tons of straight up HE spewin' dee-vine intervention! If god is love, then you can call me cupid!"

"What about that tank, sir?"

"We've all run the simulations. They're tough but they ain't invincible. Stick with the Master Chief, he'll know what to do," Johnson said, putting his cigar back in his mouth and climbing up the ramp to an awaiting Pelican.

"Thanks for the tank. _He_ never gets me anything," Cortana said.

Johnson readied a bay gun from the ramp.

"Why do you keep hitting on—" the Spartan began, but was promptly cut off by Johnson. Pulling in the charging lever, he grinned and nodded.

"—Oh……I know what the ladies like," he said.

"Every single guy is gonna quote that for weeks on end," a soldier said to another as he pointed to Johnson.

"……_Die_," she answered, boarding the tank.

As soon as the Pelican took off, the Master Chief climbed up and onto the Scorpion tank and into the control hatch. Three Marines armed with rocket launchers jumped on top and held onto the handles provided for riders. The Chief rolled the tank up the bridge's gentle slope and saw the orange morning sky over New Mombasa's skyline. Antennae, satellite receivers, and billboards reached out towards the clouds as if grappling for the gods themselves. Purple clouds hung in the air and bright flashes erupted frequently amongst them. He couldn't tell if it was weapons or the weather. Taking only a brief look he focused his attention back to the oncoming threat just as a soldier yelled "got another contact!" and fired a rocket. The Ghost attempted to skid to a halt and turn the opposite way when he saw the projectile explode from the tube, but recent upgrades to the UNSC weaponry had added new heat-seeking technology to the M19 SSM. It collided with the purple vehicle and blew it and the Elite pilot to smithereens. The alien wreckage littered the road with more debris. The bridge was in just as bad a shape as the tunnel he had emerged from. Vehicles still smoldered left and right and construction ramps were placed on either road in a diagonal pattern which made navigation irritating as the day is long. Another squadron of Ghosts hovered and weaved through the mess.

Using the Scorpion's mortars and machine gun, he aided his fellow soldiers in their task of taking out the aliens.

"I'm going to try and contact the Commander, hold on a second," Cortana said.

"_Commander Keyes……Commander Keyes_?" No response. "_Miranda! MIRANDA!_"

Meanwhile, Miranda was busy trying to make a moustache out of a wooden pencil. She attempted to get Lieutenant Dalloway's attention, but was to no avail. Her shenanigans caused him to miss Cortana's incoming message.

"I can't make any contact. Figures. This is what I get for trying to work with a Keyes," Cortana resolved. A Phantom dropship glided to their position and its plasma turrets began targeting the humans.

"Damn!" a Marine yelled as he hopelessly watched one of his rockets explode against the hull of the ship and proceed to do zero damage. "We got trouble, Chief."

In response to the new threat, he swiveled the tank's cannon to the right and set the crosshair over the Phantom. Even the 90mm mortars from the tank couldn't pierce through the Phantom's hull. The projectiles from both the Chief and the Marines merely rocked the ship ever so slightly.

"……Well, _shit_," a leatherneck remarked after a pause.

"_Brace yourselves_," the Master Chief said over the team freq. as he stamped down on the Scorpion's acceleration. The behemoth shot off at a whopping fifteen miles an hour, five miles faster then they _were_ traveling at. The Phantom had already started firing, when a Pelican swooped in behind it and began to give it a taste of its own medicine.

"Well, it could be worse, there could have been another one behind it," the male Marine said with a shrug. Split seconds later, the saying "don't count your Jackals before they hatch" came true as a second Phantom pulled up to their position, its turrets sizing up the Scorpion. The female Marine favoured her counterpart with a look that sent a clear message of hate.

"A-heh, I didn't—"

"—I hate you," she said, cutting him off.

Frustrated with the amount of damage and injury the Phantoms caused to the UNSC, the Master Chief aimed the long barrel of the Scorpion at the leviathan and delivered a 90mm mortar right to its doorstep. The mortar collided with one of the three turrets hanging from its belly and the three-pronged menace broke straight off the ship. Defense crippled, the Phantom sped off for cover in the city that lie ahead.

"We sure showed _them_, didn't we?" the male Marine said cheerfully. The other Marine continued to look upon him with anger and doubt. Her face portrayed her feelings so she had no reason to say anything.

After the second Phantom scare, the rest of the painfully long trip down the bridge to New Mombasa went rather quietly, for the most part. Eyes cast towards the sky, both Marines caught sight of a handful of Banshees circling over the towering skyscrapers and docking ports. The Master Chief took note of the flying menaces in the back of his head, but he paid more attention to the two emerging Wraith tanks that crept out of the next tunnel into the city. Taking action, he turned the lumbering Scorpion to the left to avoid the mortar that glowed towards him, but the tank just wasn't fast enough. The bleed from the comet tore sheets of armour from the human tank and burned an unfortunate Marine alive. Cursing as he smacked the front panel, he swung the tank's turret around and unleashed a torrent of bullets upon the closest Wraith. Spicing up the assault with three well-placed 90mm mortars, the top blew straight off of the alien ship and the armoured hull was set ablaze with blue flame. The other tank slowly meandered into place and tried its luck with the formidable human armour. The Chief employed the same tactic and emerged victorious once more. Taking a moment to acknowledge the immense guilt he felt for losing one of his soldiers due to a stupid mistake, he gathered up his mental britches, and moved into the tunnel.

"Poor Corporal Walden……her Sonic giftcard expired yesterday," the other Marine said as he found it while salvaging some ammo from her pack.

The slightly dimmer passageway was relatively devoid of life, until, he could identify the flashes of UNSC weapons and a group of Marines appeared on his HUD. Among the sound of grinding gears, torn up treads, and creaking metal, the sound of battle was distinct as he popped the top of the tank and exited once he came to a dead end blocked off by a half-closed blast-door barrier. A moment of silence gave the humans the perfect opportunity to brief the Master Chief on the situation.

"Corners are tight here, Chief, take this," she said, offering her shotgun. The Marine who hitched a ride on the Scorpion eyed the cockpit mischievously.

"Thanks," the Spartan answered with a nod, accepting the rifle and offering his sniper rifle. The Marine took it, checked it twice, and frowned.

"Uh, sir?" she inquired.

"Yes?" the Chief answered.

She held it out with a frown.

"Oh, sorry," he apologised. He clicked the scope back down to normal view and handed it back.

"No, I mean, this thing isn't loaded. There are no rounds in here."

The Chief thought for a moment and realised that is was indeed empty. "Oh……well……tough luck," he said with a slight shrug as he cocked the shotgun and climbed up the sloping road onto the walkway. He was nearly ready to jump down and engage the enemy, when a deafening roar rang out and he saw the front of the huge treads scraping at the barrier.

"What the hell are you doing, Marine?!" he hollered.

"I'm gettin' this bitch through if it's the last thing I do!" the leatherneck called back, inching the tank to his right, dangerously close to the Spartan and the other two soldiers.

After an exhausting thirteen minutes, the Marine had actually gotten the tank through the space between the first barrier, but was ultimately put in his place when he couldn't get it through the second. Enemies defeated by the short-lived, tight cornered tank spree, the Chief followed the soldiers out through another, much smaller and much dirtier service tunnel, and into the broad daylight, facing a basin full of enemies and their artillery.

It took the good half of the morning to dispose of the majority of the Covenant in the area surrounding the city. Bloody ground-pounding battles, fierce Warthog to Wraith plus Ghost tag-team skirmishes, and countless shield recharging was the summary of the Spartan soldier's November morning in the city. On city streets strewn with debris, bodies, and shrapnel, the Master Chief met up with the rest of the Marines in a large service building.

"Corporal Perez, company B. Our leader is Sergeant Banks. He's upstairs, c'mon, I'll show you," Perez said with a salute as he hastened into the building. Turrets and rocket junkies were stationed at every stairwell and corner as stoic, dirty-faced Marines sat at the ready.

The Sergeant was waiting on the roof of the entrance with a young, fear-stricken soldier. The greeting he received was all but welcoming.

"When I asked for back-up, I didn't think they'd send a _Spartan_," Sergeant Banks snapped.

"He's diabetic. Go easy on him," the lone survivor Marine whispered to the Sergeant.

"What do you have against Spartans?" the Chief asked civilly.

"……Because of what _your_ people did to _my_ people," he said after a dramatic pause.

There was another pause as the Chief stared through his mirrored visor. "Oh, so you're going to be _that_ guy, are you?"

Sergeant Banks was about to slander the Spartans again, when the other Marine grabbed a hold of his shoulders and pointed to his own face.

"You see this look?! It's _terror_!" he yelled. Banks shoved him back down to the ground.

"Did I give you permission to bitch, Marine?" he demanded. The soldier grabbed a hold of the turret and attempted to hide himself behind it. An ear-splitting noise similar to the one the original Godzilla made pierced the air and silenced the Marines as a Scarab tank came into full view, rounding the corner down the main street.

"Oh no, here it comes!" the whiny Marine yelled, still moving his mouth even after he spoke.

Sergeant Banks dove for the turret and began firing madly in the Scarab's direction. The bullets bounced harmlessly from the titan's skin as it neared.

"Uh……I don't think it's stopping," Banks said as he removed his finger from the trigger and ran for the doorway back into the building. Covering the back of his neck, he hollered "everybody down!" The Chief crouched down by a small service tower as the other Marine flattened himself against the roof's pseudo-rampart. Even the towering structures weren't enough to box the massive tank in. Its entomologic shape allowed it to easily climb over the building the Marines were stationed in. One of the long legs scraped against the tower the Chief was sitting under and the Spartan hustled to get away from the toppling metal structure. After the tank had gone over, it made another Godzilla noise.

"This thing is really starting to PISS ME OFF!" Sergeant Banks shouted, showering a one foot radius with saliva.

"I'll say! That was a Horizon tower! Now my Blueberry doesn't work," the scared Marine said mournfully, pulling his cellular device from a pocket.

The Chief began to ascend to the second level of roof as Banks and the scared rookie followed. He pounded through the upper half of the building until he found himself on a wrought iron catwalk. Hearing the noise the tank made a third time, a quick glance to the left proved the Scarab was indeed making its way down to his position. As soon as the other Marines caught up to him, the Chief grabbed a rocket launcher that was propped up against a cargo crate and loaded some conveniently placed rounds lying next to it. He had just slapped the cover down over the rockets, when he heard the sound of an engine revving and eager shouts.

"What in the—" Master Chief was about to exclaim, as a severely damaged Warthog burst through the doors he had exited from and skidded on the iron catwalk, fish-tailing and threatening to slide off. It sped for him and he was forced to dive out of the way.

"_What do you bastards think you're doing_?!" he demanded over the comm. channel.

"Helpin' you, Chief!" a Marine answered as he hollered something inarticulate and the LRV continued down the catwalk.

The Chief watched as the chain gun on the Warthog helped in eliminating the Covenant that poured out of the center of the Scarab. Hoisting the launcher on his shoulder, he sped after the parked vehicle and did what he could to blow the aliens clear off of their tank.

The Scarab made another Godzilla-like noise as it rounded a corner. The Chief followed the smoking 'Hog as the Marines eagerly shouted after the alien tank.

"_We've got it cornered_!" someone said over the comm. system.

"It's got nowhere else to go. Our only option is to board the Scarab," Cortana pointed out. The Master Chief winced upon hearing this. Actually going _into_ the thing wasn't really what he wanted to do. Standing on top of it……maybe. Jumping around on the leg joints……definitely. Going inside……not so much. Sighing and facing the fact that he had virtually no other choice, he traded his battle rifle for a shotgun, which he named "the Clyde V", loaded it up, and hastily took position behind a turret as Covenant warriors began to leak out of the Scarab.

"The Warthog!" he heard roughly three Marine voices scream as the vehicle came screeching down the catwalk. The Spartan, once more, dove out of the way as the LRV flew off of the iron grating, wedged itself between the Scarab and its canopy, and suffered a broken turret from the stunt. The former gunner took care of any Covenant forces that tried to emerge from the bowels of the tank.

Once he was sure they had cleared the area, the Master Chief leaped from the ledge to the tank. He winced again as the tank produced another noise. Previously, he had been a considerable distance away and didn't seem so bad, but up close, the thing was practically deafening.

"Damn!" one soldier stated.

Shaking his head, he cautiously sneaked into the bowels of the beast.

Peering around a corner, he noticed that an Elite wearing white armour and another wearing red stood at the front of the tank, presumably operating the controls.

"Sang……that noise is _so_ scary," the red-armoured Elite commented to the other.

"I know, right? Whoever thought of _that_ idea should get a palace or something."

"Yes……or _something_," the red Elite chuckled.

"Careful. That Elite with the white armour is an Ultra," Cortana advised.

"Acknowledged," the Chief said as he did his best to sneak up to both aliens. He was right behind the red Elite, when he turned to the Ultra. The Chief panicked.

"Did you know that I have _never seen_ Sangheili 'Casablanca'?" he asked.

"What? You _never have_?" the Ultra asked.

"No, I am afraid not."

"Well, you _have got_ to see it. It is a brilliant film, _much_ better than the human version."

"Of that, I have no doubts."

The Chief's feat was rather brilliant as well. He stood behind the Major and did his best to move his arms and body in succession with the Elite's, as not to be seen, like something out of a cheap cartoon. It wasn't an easy task, seeing as the Major liked to talk with his arms.

"So……how is your clan?" the Ultra asked.

"Oh, they are doing well to the extent of my knowledge. My eldest nephew just entered into the glorious Covenant military."

"Really now?"

"Yes, indeed. One of the chief elders is sick again, but—" he was about to finish his answer, when the Spartan swung a rocket launcher that collided with the back of the Elite's head. Yelling "ow! The back of my face!" the Elite tumbled to the floor. The Ultra roared with surprise and fear that he camouflaged with anger as the Chief backtracked towards the exit. The white-armoured Elite pulled out an energy sword that flashed loudly to life. Growling the whole way, the warrior charged the Spartan. Figuring a rocket would take care of business, he fired one at the oncoming Elite's feet. To the Chief's horror, it only flared his shields. The tall alien roared again and pulled his sword arm back for a lunging blow. Missing the Spartan's helmet by mere inches, the energy sword cut into the back of the ramp and stuck itself in about a foot.

"Aw, come on!" the Ultra growled, trying to wrench it free. The Master Chief turned around, switching to "the Clyde V".

"No, no, no! That is not fair! I did not get to—" the Ultra was silenced by one blow from the shotgun. The Elite was thrown backwards, the sword catching his body for a few seconds before it hit the floor. Purple blood pooled on the floor of the Scarab as a dinner plate-sized hole removed part of the alien's left hip. Replacing the one shell, the Chief went back up the ramp and out into the morning sunlight. That's what you get when you insult the brilliance of human "Casablanca".

"That's right you muthas, _run_!" Johnson laughed as the frigate _In Amber Clad_ pulled up near the bay the Scarab was stopped in.

"Frigga's womb, _Chief_! Get back in my friggin' frigate before I get hostile!" Commander Keyes said.

"Slipspace rupture, inside the city!" Dalloway advised from his position in one of the pilot chairs.

"What the frigate?" Miranda exclaimed. "_Yo, Hood, the Prophet's buggin' out. Permission to chase that bastard down_?" she requested.

Lord Hood was present on the channel but refused to answer.

Miranda sighed irately. "Please _can I have permission to chase that bastard down?"_

"_Aha_, _how's it feel? Go ahead, Commander_."

"Um, 'Starla', I don't know how we're gonna—"

"Just do it, son!" she silenced him rather quickly. Both pilots banked the frigate into a sharp turn as it headed for the slit that began to form just above the city.

"Maybe you should use your 'Keyes Loop' thing that your dad used to do," the Master Chief suggested.

"I _can't_. That's my secret move. I can _only_ use it once……then it recharges as soon as I touch ground, but I can only use it once in the air and now is most certainly _not_ the time, Chief, _yeez_!" Miranda corrected with an angered sigh. Everyone aboard the massive ship felt the effects of the tremendous gee force as the ship was sucked into the rupture. Once they were in, it sealed off with a bright EMP burst that swept through the smoldering ruins of the once newly renovated African city.

Riley 'Bodensee and the Zealot Elite both shared in the endurance in the punishment for their "crimes". The Zealot was dished out the physical pain and Riley took in the mental and emotional pain as the Brutes scalded, beat, kicked, and taunted them with racial slurs against the Sangheili, most of it behind the Prophet's backs.

After finishing the poorly rated movie, Tartarus and an entourage of three other Brutes dragged the unconscious Zealot and a whiny, talkative Riley down the hall in a detention chamber.

"……Don't you _ever_ shut up?" one of the Brutes asked with rage. Riley was, again, being toted over a massive shoulder.

"_All I'm saying_ is that it's kinda rude for you guys to _always_ be hatin' on the Sangheili. I mean, what did we ever do to—"

The Brute growled and roughly jostled Riley to shut him up. It seemed to work for the time being.

"How much longer must we heft this baggage? Any cell will do!" a Brute who was carrying the Zealot asked.

"Why not toss him in with this lot?" his partner suggested, nodding towards a cell full of Jackals. They all clung to the bars and hollered inane, cockney dialect in response.

"God save the pirate queen!" Riley said to them loudly as they passed. All of the hostility immediately dropped from the Jackals and they greeted Riley warmly.

"'Ey, Riley! Wot's goin' on, mate?!"

"Wot ah ya doin' down 'ere in _these_ pahts?!"

"Say 'ello' to tha family fa me!"

"Will do! You guys take care!" Riley answered with a laugh. He was still laughing when they passed the cells. Riley managed to hear something about meat and "flesh being seared just the way I like it" from the Brutes carrying the other Elite. He instantly stopped laughing and inquired.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What's this I hear about eatin' _mah sangz_?"

"_We_ won't say anything if _you_ won't," one Brute chuckled.

"Quiet! You two whimper like Unggoy fresh off the teat!"

"Ha! He said 'teat'," Riley said with a laugh.

"And you, heel, shut your mouth or I'll let my soldiers solder it shut with their plasma rifles," Tartarus threatened.

"And we'd do it, too!" a Brute said.

"Yeah, I bet you would," Riley agreed snidely.

The automatic doors at the end of the hallway opened and the party passed through. They stepped out onto a small lift in a massive room and it descended down to the lowest level.

Riley looked thoughtful for a moment as his stare drifted to the ceiling. "……Yep. I hate my life,"

he concluded with a nod.

The lift stopped after a lengthy ride. Honour guards stood rigid at either side of a small walkway to an intricate door. It led to a large platform in a tall room. The Prophets of Truth and Mercy stood at the center of the platform. Truth looked thoroughly bored and Mercy was asleep……again. Truth turned his attention to the party as soon as the lift came to a halt. He glared at Mercy out of the corner of his eyes.

"Noble Prophets," Tartarus said on approach, dropping to one knee. "I have brought the incompetent……s."

Both Brutes dropped the Zealot without any affection. They dropkicked Riley. He landed on his face next to the Zealot.

"Dude, gonna break my glasses," Riley murmured as he pushed himself up, sat on his knees and adjusted his spectacles. "Can't see," he finished, placing them as they were and looking up. He saw both Prophets in front of him, the Zealot in his hands and knees next to him.

"Thank you, Tartarus……now leave this place," Truth said as he pointed to the exit.

"But, I thought—"

"—Get out!" Mercy yelled. The Brutes bowed and hurried to board the lift again.

"……Thine crimes transcend all that is evil. By the will of the gods and the council, they have decided to have thee hung by thine entrails and thine miserable corpse paraded through the city. _However_, the terms of thine execution are ultimately up to _me_."

"It is _always_ the Prophet of _Truth_," Mercy said to himself mockingly, turning away for a brief moment.

"I am already dead……" the Zealot said.

"Psh, _emo_," Riley taunted softly to himself.

"Doth thou knoweth what this place is called?" Truth said.

"Oh wait! Um, I know! Now……let's see—" Riley said, raising his hand.

"—The Mausoleum of the Arbiter," the Zealot answered.

"Correct."

"Aw! I _knew_ that," Riley said with much disappointment. "These are all Arbiters?"

"Yes."

"Whoa, that's _impressive_! You have _all_ of them?" Riley questioned.

"Indeed. And you can imagine that if we were to simultaneously open all of these hatches, it would smell pretty ripe," Mercy added.

"Got _that_ right, holy one," Riley said with a chuckle.

"They are the vanguard of the Great Journey, each Arbiter from first to last," Truth continued.

"—The Taming of the Lekgolo, the Unggoy Rebellion, ooh, _that_ was a good one," Mercy rattled off the events.

"That _was _pretty good," Riley agreed, having no idea what they were talking about.

"The Covenant would have broken long ago if it were not for them," Mercy said, slamming his fist down the arm of his anti-grav throne.

"Even on my knees I am not worthy of their presence……" the Zealot said.

"Thou hast heard about mine divine visions. _We_ know thou doth not desecrate the air with vile noise in the veins of 'Grow Heresy'."

"We knew it all along, but, you know, we have to keep up appearances," Mercy agreed.

"No, holy one."

"……But doth thee know about Grass?"

"No."

"Anti?"

"No."

"Lord//Tailor?"

"No."

"Anatomical Gift?"

"I've never heard of any of them."

"According to the scripts, _this_ is the real Head Witch, the Anti-Prophet," Truth said as he pressed a holo-button on his throne and a holograph of an Elite dressed in ornate, metal studded, sin influence armour.

"The King of all the Witches," Mercy said with a nod.

He pressed another button and the holograph began to animate. Due to his posture, he was presumably sitting in his squat and the way he was talking gave it the air that he was being interviewed or was discussing his opinions with someone else.

"I fuckin' hate the Prophets. They're just a bunch 'a senile, decrepit, clueless sheep. They almost had me brainwashed, but _I'm_ one step ahead of them. I know what the fuck's goin' on. They're tryin' ta fuckin' use the Forerunner excuse to get us all fuckin' killed. The 'Great Journey' is a fuckin—" before he could finish, Truth ended the transmission.

"This witch, and those who follow him, must be disposed of. They will impede the wonder that is the Great Journey."

"What use am I? I can no longer command ships, lead troops into battle—" the Zealot said.

"—Not as thou ist, no. _But_, become _the Arbiter_……and once more forge the righteous path that so many before thee hath to deliver our fantastic cause from evil."

A large container slid down at an angle from the opposite wall. "Be wary though, the missions you will go on _will_ be perilous, _suicidal_. You will _die_ as the others have before you! The council _will_ have their bonfire."

It came to a halt next to the Prophets and with a hiss, the door slid open and revealed an elaborate and ceremonial suit of gray armour much different from the standard Elite issue.

"OoOoOoh, fancy……it kinda reminds me of Inspector Gadget. You know, like, in the movie, when he gets his outfit and all!" Riley said, laughing uproariously.

"Shush! You are ruining the moment!" Mercy ordered quietly.

"Hey. I gotta real problem with shushing," Riley whispered back. Rolling his eyes, he turned and watched the Zealot place the helmet on his head.

"Paraded through the stree-eets," Mercy added for effect. The Arbiter thought about what that would be like.

"Yes. Yes, I will be the Arbiter, sure," he agreed in a hurry.

"Stand by for thine orders. Thou shalst accompany the Arbiter on his holy mission," Truth instructed, turning to Riley. "Thou wilst aide him on his journey to salvation and redemption."

Riley gulped.

"This is a fate worse than death," the Arbiter said.

"The gods do not forge an easy path……." Truth said.

Before the newly appointed Arbiter and Riley could depart for their mission, Riley was granted a final farewell with his family. Now, the Phantom hovered above the street in front of his house. Before he stepped onto the grav lift, the Commander of the ship, the Scotsman Elite 'Mackee, touched Riley's shoulder.

"Two units……use 'em well," he said with a nod.

"Thank you, Commander, I will," Riley said. "Thanks again, for persuading the Prophets."

"No prob'm, brotha," he answered. They shook hands firmly and Riley stepped onto the grav lift. He descended down to the street and cleared the drop zone as soon as he felt his boots touch ground. He stood on his stoop and watched the ship hover a moment and then ascend back into the air with a dull hum. He entered his house gently. Riley had to kick the door to get it shut all the way. Upon his entrance, both uncles and his aunt greeted him from the living room. Riley took a deep breath.

"Guys……they're—"

"—We know……" Aunt Gladjs said, hugging him tightly. "Clark was sent to tell us."

"I can't believe they would _do _such a thing! Those missions are suicide! _Never_ in all my years have they—" Uncle Chuckspa raged.

"—Chuckspa……it's true. The Special Operatives missions _are_ suicide, but this is the Prophet's

will, there is nothing we can do," Uncle Śzerm said. Chuckspa chose not to argue.

"Riley?"

"Yes, Uncle Chuckspa?"

"……There's something I think we need to share with you," he said. "Come with us."

Riley followed his relatives into the kitchen. There was a small, rectangular module sitting on the table.

"Have a seat," Uncle Chuckspa said as he chose one. Gladjs sat down on the other side of Riley. Śzerm departed to his room in the basement.

Uncle Chuckspa took a deep breath. "……You asked about your parents last night."

"Yes."

"It is not the Sangheili way for children to know of their sires, but I'm willing to break tradition for your sake," Chuckspa said, touching a holo-panel on the side of the module. Riley now knew why Śzerman had chosen not to join them. With a click, the top opened and he reached inside. Chuckspa pulled out three round discs and placed them on the table. Riley was highly interested in this by now. His uncle cleared his throat and pressed a button on each. Before him appeared three images, one with a gallant looking Sangheili in the golden armour of a Zealot, the second of presumably the same Elite wearing the armour of a respected honour guard, the third wearing the silver, crested armour of a Council of Particular Worth member. A name and rank scrolled along the bottom:

Banitar 'Bodensee

Field Master/Shipmaster

Officer 01923-11-00023

Banitar 'Bodensee

Honour Guard

Officer 01923-11-00023

Banitar 'Bodensee

Senior Member: High Council of Particular Worth

Officer 01923-11-00023

Riley stared at the holograms in wonder. He was almost speechless.

"This……this was _my_ father?" he asked.

"Not was……_is_. He's still a part of the council today. He was most likely present during your trial," Uncle Chuckspa said. "This is my younger brother, one of your biological fathers. Banitar 'Bodensee."

"But……but, how can that be? He's such a successful warrior. I'm nothing in the shadow of _this_."

"But _you are_ _something_……you're the son of one of the most renowned warriors in the Sangheili military. You've been selected to quell the heresy of the sinning Sangheili, you survived the destruction of the sacred ring, you saved the most important of the Halo armada," Uncle Chuckspa said. "_That's_ something that neither I nor Śzerman has done."

Riley kept staring at the holograms. "_Wow_……I guess I should have seen this coming, it's so cliché," he said with a slight chuckle. He stared in awe and wonder at the holograms of his heroic father. He longed so much to just sit down and talk to him, about his life, about his career, and about his clan. Uncle Chuckspa pulled out another object from the module. It was a spotlessly clean helmet from the Zealot's armour he wore. Chuckspa tried to rub out a mark with his elbow that Riley couldn't see. After making sure it was perfect, he gently removed Riley's blue helmet and replaced it with his father's. Uncle Chuckspa smiled.

"It suits you," he said. "I could see you wearing his armour."

As much as he enjoyed the honour of wearing a high-ranking helmet, Riley couldn't help but feel guilt, shame, and embarrassment. He sighed deeply and removed it.

"I don't deserve such an honour."

"Of course you do, Riley," Chuckspa insisted, pushing the helmet back towards his nephew.

"No, I don't. Guys, I have a confession to make. I'm not this big war hero you think I am. Sure, I guess I did save half an armada of warriors but……that was pretty much just by accident. In the six ages I've been away from home, I've only been on the battlefield a dozen or so times and barely anything happened. I've never killed a single human and I was the central for their studies on the _Truth and Reconciliation_ and _Wrongness Begat Suffering_."

Uncle Chuckspa and Aunt Gladjs looked rather shocked.

"Truth be told……I don't even deserve _this_ armour," he said, pushing his blue helmet further away from him. "……I'm a coward and a failure. I'm sorry I dishonour our impressive clan name."

"……You don't dishonour your clan," Uncle Chuckspa said.

The young Sangheili spent his last cycle with his family merely talking and just being in their company. The day he had left for military training had almost the same atmosphere, only……something about this mission, this particular action, seemed to make his family more distraught. His retired Special Ops uncle told him stories about the missions he had been on, the things he saw, and the things to be careful of. Riley often found himself staring at Śzerman's maimed leg, the result of one of those missions.

His cycle seemed like only a unit as Uncle Chuckspa looked at the alien clock on the wall mournfully.

"Well," he began, "best not be late and anger the Commander." With that, he rose slowly from his spot next to Gladjs on the sofa. Everyone else stood up and wandered toward the front door. Uncle Śzerm returned after Chuckspa had sealed the module containing his brother's things. The automatic door slid open and Riley stepped out onto the stoop. He turned around and faced his relatives.

"Oh, Uncle Chuckspa?"

"Mhm?"

"……Would it be alright if I took this with me?" Riley inquired, holding up the hologram disc of his father as a Zealot.

"Of course," Uncle Chuckspa answered.

"……I guess this is it, again," he said.

No one answered.

"……Thank you, for telling me about my father and my past and stuff. Just in case, this is the last time I see you guys—"

"—Don't speak like that, Riley," Aunt Gladjs pleaded.

"Well……I just want you to know that I love you. You guys mean more to me than any Forerunner-given possession and you're all a blessing in my life. You know, I'm always thinkin' about you, I'm always prayin' for you, and……I wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for any of you."

In the distance, the hum of a Phantom could be heard.

"Uncle Śzerman?" Riley said, turning back to him.

"Yes, Riley?"

"……I'm sorry."

"……For what, my boy?"

"……I'm sorry that I didn't turn out to be the Sangheili you wish I was. I did the best I could, but I guess it wasn't good enough. I'm sorry."

Upon hearing that, Śzerman turned his head away.

"Tell the rest of the clan that I love and pray for them, if I don't come back. Even if I do, remind them," he said as the beam for the Phantom's grav lift suddenly flickered on. He trod heavily down the stoop and to the waiting gravity field; to a mission everyone believed to be suicidal.


	6. Chapter 6: The Witches of East Threshold

**Chapter VI: The Witches of East Threshold**

**Ninth Age of Reclaimation**

**Covenant Phantom inbound to GoodAid construction site on planet Threshold.**

Now on board a Phantom, the Arbiter stood amongst the other Special Operatives warriors in the crammed bay of the ship. There were five Sangheili and two Unggoy. All were armed with plasma rifles, pistols, or carbines, save for one who clutched a beam rifle like a safety object. One Elite at the back of the ship had his rifle tucked underneath his arm and was reading a presumably dirty magazine, chuckling to himself every so often. A white-armoured Elite snatched it out of his hands as he strode past him.

"Do you think this is a _joke_?" he snapped.

"I just wanted one last hurrah, Commander," he growled in response.

The Arbiter noticed another Elite take a long swig from a flask covered with rhinestones and another expertly performing decadent tricks with a red butterfly yo-yo.

"Pst! Hey! Can I play with that after you?" the soldier next to him whispered as he nudged him.

"Get your own!" was the reply.

He also noticed another Elite at the far end of the ship was running a needler shard across his wrist and wincing every time he did. When the light washed over him, the Arbiter could see intense scars covering the entirety of his arms.

"Commander! He is doing it _again_!" the Elite next to him tattled.

"Did he do something dishonourable?"

"No, he is just doing it."

"Well, _take it from him_! _Honestly_! Who gave 'Karmamee a needler?" the white-armoured Elite barked. He swiped the needle from 'Karmamee's hand and shoved the beam rifle he discarded against the wall at him. The Elite was the Special Operatives Commander, Rtas 'Vadumee, a highly skilled, keen, and courageous warrior. He was known also by his nick-name "Half-Jaw" only to the SpecOps Elites on account of his gory but successful battle with the Flood, which had infected a solitary cruiser, the _Infinite Succor_, in deep space. Another distinguishing feature other than his two half-jaws was the eye-liner tear he had drawn underneath his left eye with white war paint. While striding around his soldiers, the Arbiter could make out a grid of cartoon human heads painted on the shoulder plates of his armour. All of the ones on his right were crossed out; almost all of them were on his left. He straightened up and cleared his throat. All the Elites stood at attention.

"……When we joined the Covenant, we took an oath," he began.

"According to our stations, all without exception!" they barked back in unison. "Yeah, that……thing," another Sangheili said.

"On the blood of our fathers, on the blood of our sons, we swore to uphold this oath."

"Even to our dying breath."

"All who would break this code are witches, worthy of neither pity nor mercy. Even now, they will use our lord's creation to broadcast their lies!"

"We will grind them into dust! Scrape them as excrement from our boots!"

"……And continue our march towards glorious salvation!" he said the last part dramatically, whipping around and facing the entire crew. He had a voice like a Baptist minister which made the Elites and the two Grunts all growl in agreement. One Elite hollered "testify, brother!"

'Vadumee turned his attention to the Arbiter, who was patiently waiting in a corner near the cockpit door.

"This armour suits you……" he said with a nod.

"Thanks," the Arbiter replied strictly.

"But this……this is something that even the greatest of triumphs shall not hide," he said, gesturing to the Arbiter's "Emblem of Everlasting Dishonour and Witchery Those Who Mess Up Receive".

"Yes……I assume nothing ever will."

"Even though you are the Arbiter, you will not reap any sympathy from me. I care only about my warriors, not about you."

"I suppose that makes two of us."

'Vadumee examined him for a moment then grunted, moving on.

The ship hovered over the entrance to a gravitational structure moments later. All the Elites muttered their last benisons, took up their weapons, and stood stock still. High winds from the swirling eye of an approaching storm lashed at the Phantom. It was predicted the storm would be hitting the station soon. Covenant weatherpeople are more reliable than human weatherpeople, even in the future. The SpecOps team stepped on the gravity lift in single file; the Arbiter was last. As he jumped on the pad, he noticed that Commander 'Vadumee stayed behind. Before he could continue his transmission, another Phantom hastened to the LZ and another soldier fell to the ground roughly without use of the grav lift. His yelp caused the other warriors to turn and investigate.

"_Who is that_?" 'Vadumee exclaimed over the team freq.

"_Ach! I cannae stand it enahmore! He won't shut up! I'm sorry, Commandeh, but ya takin' Rileh_ now!" Commander 'Mackee's brogue rang over the frequency.

"_But he's supposed to stay with_—"

"—_No! Ah refuse ta deal with 'im enah longer! He's yur responsibilateh now! Mah Sangheileh 'n I will meet up with ya in the wee small ow-ahs layta_!" With that, his signal cut out and the Phantom sped away.

"_Very well then. Welcome aboard, 'Bodensee_," 'Vadumee said.

"What just happened?" Riley asked, adjusting his glasses and rising to his feet. "Hey! What up, mah sangz?!" he asked cheerfully as he made some sort of inane gang gesture and laughed out loud.

"……Ha, ha! You require _glasses_? You look so ridiculous," one Elite taunted.

"Oh yeah? Well, your uncles don't love you. They never have! And when you go home to your keep, they just be sittin' there……not lovin' you," Riley said, getting uncomfortably close to the opposing soldier.

"I-It's true!" he sobbed.

"……We _are the arm of the Prophet and_ you _are the blade_," the Arbiter heard as he brandished his energy sword and followed the other warriors to a ramp.

"Can I be the mitochondria? It's the powerhouse of the cell!" Riley inquired cheerfully, flaunting his biological knowledge.

"_You must be swift and silent and together we shall quell this blasphemy without incident. To the extent of my knowledge, the Anti-Prophet is holding another benefit show somewhere in this station. The storm is causing havoc on their frequency though and they probably won't be able to hear well if their music is turned up._ We _have the element of surprise,_ for now," the Commander finished.

"Hey! What's goin' on, _Arbiter_?" Riley asked with a laugh.

"I hate my life," he answered, turning to a descending ramp and hurrying down it with the others.

"So, how's it feel to be the Arbiter? Bet it feels pretty good. Yep. The Prophets really had you goin' for a second, you totally thought they were gonna off you because the council said they should. I'm not gonna lie, I kinda thought they were too, but—"

"—This _is_ a fate worse than death," the Arbiter said as he shook his head and turned away from Riley, who kept on talking. He examined his surroundings once they were down the ramp. One Elite was pressing a series of buttons on a small light panel by a door while a second vultured over his shoulder. The last was taking another swig from his flask. 'Karmamee, the Elite who had been trying to cut himself with the needler projectiles stood still, staring at the ledge of the station. The Arbiter tried waving at him slowly to try to direct his attention back to the group, but it wasn't working, he didn't pay him any mind.

"What's wrong with _him_?" Riley asked in a concerned manner as he pointed to 'Karmamee.

By now, the Elite at the light panel was arguing gruffly with the one that was previously leaning over his shoulder. The door _still_ wasn't open. The Arbiter focused his attention back to 'Karmamee. For a moment, he turned his head and looked into his eyes, then dropped his rifle and made a mad sprint for the edge of the station.

"There he goes again!" the light panel Elite said, pointing to him. Flask Elite immediately shot after him. Just when 'Karmamee was about to gracefully dive off of the station, flask Elite grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back on a solid surface. He dragged 'Karmamee back to the group.

"Unhand me! _I said unhand me_! _Come on_! Just _release me_, sang!" 'Karmamee pleaded as he wrestled to get out of the other Elite's grasp. "Come on! Please?! _Please_! I _do not wish_ to live anymore! It means _nothing_!"

"Would you _relax_?! We _need_ you. Just take a few deep breaths……perfect, just like that……he is _always_ doing this. Always trying to commit suicide."

"How come? Did he rune famry 'onah!" the spectacled warrior inquired in a horrible fake Chinese accent, pressing his hands together and nodding his head sharply.

"That is none of _your_ business, mangy cur," 'Karmamee snapped.

"You shouldn't try to commit suicide. I was up real late this one time at my house and I was watching holovision and I came across this one intergalactic channel and this guy said that 'Jesus gave you life and if you kill yourself, it's like stealing from Jesus'. And you don't want to steal from Jesus, 'cuz it's apparently a really bad thing to be doin'," Riley explained.

"……Have your brains leaked from your skull?" the Elite who saved 'Karmamee demanded.

"I was just tryin' to make a point, you don't have to be so _rude_ about it," Riley said. "……What's your name, anyway? My name's Riley."

"……Karmo. Karmo 'Fogertee," he answered hesitantly.

"You have a nice last name," Riley said with a smile.

"Thanks," 'Fogertee answered.

"I see you have a carbine, there."

"Yep."

"Those are new, I think they're cool. They gave me a new ghettoblaster. My old one didn't work and I ended up throwing it at the side of the canyon. The canyon wasn't too happy about that but it _really_ needed to suck it up and be a man."

"Wait, a _what_?" the Arbiter asked.

"I'm more of an offense kinda guy, personally. Actually, I'm more of a sit at home and watch Fred Astaire movies kinda guy."

"Well, you would do well to get used to _defense_, because _that _is the position you will be assuming," 'Fogertee said.

"……Who are the guys over there? I would go ask their names myself, but, they look kinda busy," Riley questioned, observing the arguing Elites by the door.

"The warrior on the receiving end of the argument is Scona 'Falassee and the other is Norda 'Crosbee," 'Fogertee answered. There was a cease in their quarreling and Scona went back to typing in command codes.

"Excuse me……Karmo told me your name was Scona?" Riley began as he approached him.

"Yes? What about it?" he answered bitterly.

"Well, it kinda reminds me of this cake thing that humans eat for breakfast, so……your new Riley nick-name is 'Scone', okay? Because that's what they're called, Scones," he said with ample laughter.

"'Scone', eh?" he said, finishing off the code. "……I like it. It has a nice ring to it," he said as he was rewarded by a click and the door slid open. "Ha! Victory is mine and he is sweet!" "Scone" declared, clenching one fist as the door slid open.

"Well, it is _about time_," 'Falassee sneered.

"Shut your jaws!" "Scone" answered. The Elites slowly maneuvered inside the station, crouching as low as possible to avoid possible detection. The Arbiter followed the others into the structure, still thinking about the conversation he had with Riley and 'Fogertee and trying to decided if Riley would be his new friend or not. Centering his thoughts on the mission, he waited with the others, energy sword at the ready.

"Engage active camouflage!" "Scone" ordered loudly. "Reveal yourselves only after the Arbiter has joined battle with the enemy!"

"It sounds so unofficial when _you_ say it," 'Crosbee mocked.

"_Be quiet, all of you_!" came Commander 'Vadumee's voice over their communications gear. "_You may wish to do the same, Arbiter. But take heed, your armour system is not as_……_new, as ours. Your camouflage will not last forever_."

"Guys! Guys, I don't have active camouflage! What do I do?" Riley panicked as the other Elites vanish into thin air.

"Wow……sucks to be you," the Arbiter remarked as he pressed himself against a wall, still visible.

"Remain unseen until the Arbiter engages the enemy. Stay behind this piston if you must," "Scone" said, pushing Riley behind it.

Allowing himself to be re-positioned by the other warrior, Riley looked down at one of the Unggoy. It looked back up at him.

"You hunt, me kill!" he growled as the air locks turned from red to blue.

"Aw-right! I'll do my best," Riley answered as they high-foured. The locks hissed and released streams of compressed air as the door's four edges slid apart. The Arbiter swiftly moved behind the doorframe and surveyed the area. Three Grunt witches were asleep against the loading platform but the first thing that caught his attention was an Elite who had his back turned to the door. The focal point of the Arbiter's view of the room was the heathen's bright red jacket whose back proudly boasted the phrase "Capitalists Blow!" and a picture of a Prophet with dollar signs in place of eyes. Enraged by the witch's ignorant display of self-expression, the Arbiter activated his camouflage and crept up on the opposite warrior. Unaware of the oncoming threat, the Elite was just about to re-check the ammunition in his carbine before the holy warrior's energy sword slashed through his back, ripping his jacket to shreds and severing his spinal cord. Making a choking sound, he toppled to the floor. A nearby Grunt lifted its head wearily. Veering behind a stationary cargo module, the Arbiter aimed his next blow at the roused Unggoy. He had just rounded the second module, when his active camouflage system gave out and he reappeared, sword raised, in the front of the small alien. There was an awkward exchange of puzzled glances as the Arbiter and the Grunt locked eyes.

"……This is going to be a long day," the holy warrior sighed irately as the rest of the Special Operatives squad moved forward and disposed of the Unggoy team. The Elites with long-ranged weapons stormed up the ramps on either side and tried to position themselves for accurate sniping. If there had been witches _here_, there could very well be more on the other side. Riley, after peering out from behind the doorframe, emerged cautiously. Realising that all threats in the immediate area had been eliminated, he grinned and headed up a ramp.

"Fight for your right to paaaaaar-tay!" he yelled, punching both fists in the area as he stood in the center of the loading platform. The second team of witches, composed of four Elites and seven Grunts, looked over to him and began unloading their weapons at the easy target. Riley ducked as the witches pitched Molotov cocktails at his position. Screaming as flames and broken glass sizzled against his shield system, he dove behind a wide pillar and glowing tank.

"_What_ could you be thinking?" "Scone" demanded, reloading his carbine. "We are supposed to be swift and silent during this task!"

"Well _ex-cuuuuuuse_ me! I just thought that—"

"—You're wasting my time!" "Scone" growled, climbing on top of the module and slaying another Elite with dropped shields with a carbine projectile to the head.

"Here goes nothin'," Riley said to himself, swallowing hard and coming out from behind the container. Careful to keep his back to the wall and plasma rifle at the ready, he edged along, trying desperately to remember everything his clan members told him about combat situations. He was in the middle of deep thought when he nearly tripped over a witch Grunt who was also sneaking along the wall near a recently opened door. They both yelled out as they touched. Riley panicked as he swung his plasma rifle as hard as he could, coming in contact directly with the side of the Grunt's head. The Unggoy's prone form flew off of the platform and hit another one of his friends below. Riley tore a plasma grenade off his belt and pitched it at the same dead alien.

"GET AWAY!" he yelled, searing the body with a few plasma bolts. The living Grunt squealed in terror as the grenade that had fastened to his abdomen exploded right as he collided with an Elite. The Elite suffered the same amount of damage, both bodies catching serious air. A chain reaction of four grenades went off, making a zigzagging line down the delivery ramp. Many of the witches suffered lost limbs as bright blue and purple blood showered the area. Three Grunts screamed and tore off in the opposite direction as two managed to fall down the drop off at the end of the room. The Arbiter and the other four Elites slowly looked over to Riley's position, perplexed expressions on their face. Riley was nervously stroking the top of his rifle.

"……He _freaked_ me out, sorry," he apologised.

"……Was that your first time or something?" Karmo questioned.

"Not bad," "Scone" said, nodding as he surveyed the carnage.

"You always remember your first," 'Crosbee added.

"Oh my Prophets, my hearts are still pounding! Geez, that was _soooooo_ scary, I didn't even see him _coming_," Riley said, scurrying down a ramp and joining them on the lower level.

"Oh, by the by, it is _your_ turn to do the 'blood snap', 'Scone'," Norda said, prodding his chest with a finger.

"_My_ turn? Are you daft? _I_ was the one to do it last time!"

"_I_ distinctly recall the fact that it was _my_ turn last time."

"Ha! _Nonsense_! _Complete_ nonsense! _You_ can't even remember who's turn it was because _you're_ too busy trying to make a pass at _every single_ _new member_ to the team, you loose bastard!" "Scone" taunted.

"Hey, um, guys? If you want _me_ to do it—" Riley began calmly.

"—Shut _up_, rookie!" both Elites hollered at the same time.

"Here……_I'll_ do it," 'Karmamee interrupted, heading for a nearby prone witch.

"……You are so immature. I made the right decision," Norda grumbled to "Scone", leaving him behind.

"What is the 'blood snap'?" the Arbiter inquired.

"It is a ritual our squad of Special Operatives Sangheili have. For every enemy we slay, one of us must perform the 'blood snap'. Watch Utta for a second," Norda explained. The suicidal Sangheili meticulously and quickly moved from enemy to enemy, plunging his hand into their chests or opened wounds, pulling it out, and snapping his fingers once.

"_Ew_! That's gross squared!"

"……And how long does this process take?" the Arbiter inquired stiffly.

"Not very long. Lead the way, Arbiter……" Norda said with a hint of cheek. The Arbiter watched Norda carefully as he passed in front of him and moved down the delivery ramp. The other Elites followed, Utta had finished his duty and joined them at a ramp that led down to the second level.

"Next time, 'Bodensee, please do not jump out and make a fool of yourself," the Arbiter instructed as he picked up a discarded carbine.

"Okay, gotcha," Riley answered, giving him a thumbs-up.

"We have lost both of the Unggoy," Utta reported.

"I _think_ we might have guessed," Norda sneered.

"More witches around the bend," the Arbiter said as the rest of the group activated their camouflage. He didn't activate what camouflage he had until he had again assessed the severity of the hostiles in the area. Among a few cargo modules suffering from Missing Weapon Syndrome (MWS), he saw a team of three more Unggoy sitting in a circle. The scent of grass hung low in the air and made the task of seeing rather difficult.

"Whoa, light it, smoke it, pass it," Riley said as he peered over the Arbiter's shoulder.

"There are more, I can see them on my motion tracker," he answered. "We best not chance it." With that, he primed a plasma grenade and aimed for the cluster of Grunts on his motion tracker. The team was rewarded with stoned exclamations and a blue explosion.

"Let us move through quickly," the Arbiter ordered, pulling out his energy sword again, just in case any heathens were missed. His motion tracker showed all clear, but the grass smoke still served as a major hindrance. After a moment of retrieving a scattering of grenades by open cargo modules, the team boarded an elevator which Norda activated.

"Honestly, I don't see how anyone could smoke that stuff. I used to know a buncha guys who—" Riley began another agonisingly long story about his life.

"—Riley?"

"Yes, Arbiter?"

"Stop," he stated, holding a hand out.

"But I was jus—"

"—Stop," he cut him off.

"I was—"

"—Stop."

"……Oh-kaaay," Riley said, looking comically distraught, like a child who knows he's done something wrong does even though he'll start doing it again as soon as you turn your back. The elevator gave way to a glass shaft as they neared the bottom.

"Sentinels! The holy warriors of our lords. Why have they sided with these witches?" Norda asked.

"Maybe they ride on those instead of brooms?" Riley suggested, waiting for a reply. Everyone stared at him with frustration.

"I know, I know, shut up, Riley," he said. "You know, Norda, you have a _really_ soothing voice."

"……You think so?"

"Uh-huh! You should be like, a radio host or something," Riley said.

"……Thanks," Norda said with a nod and a cheeky smile as the rest of the Special Operatives soldiers activated their gear. Riley missed the evil-eye "Scone" shot him. The Arbiter crouched down and stayed toward the back of the elevator, waiting for the right moment to activate. Riley stood in the center, looking a little peeved.

"You know, this is _really_ inconvenient for me," he said.

"What did I say about staying silent?" the Arbiter hissed as the elevator came to a halt. To everyone's surprise, the docking bay was empty, save for four Sentinels who were floating lazily in the air.

"……Where is everybody?" Karmo demanded.

"Their witchcraft has made them weak," Norda added.

"They are probably hiding……" Utta suggested.

"Indeed……this _is_ strange," the Arbiter said, standing to his full height. They stood in the elevator and let a full five minutes pass. Still, nothing happened. No witches poured from the doors, no one climbed upon crates, even the Sentinels didn't seem to notice them.

Norda yawned loudly. "Well, if this is the case, perhaps we should take a break. I could really use a nap."

"You are such a slacker. _Everyone_ knows you should never sleep during battle," "Scone" growled.

"Do you _see_ a battle?" Norda asked.

"I……er, no," "Scone" said, defeated.

"Perhaps we should at least take down these Sentinels. If not, they will prove to be a major annoyance if the bastards ever show up," the Arbiter said, arming his carbine. The Elites filed out of the elevator, chose cover, and began to shoot down the flying machines. Spraying the area with red-orange lasers, the Sentinels swooped and chirped as they tried to weed out the Elites. Two of the machines exploded with a burst of flame and metal as they dropped like bad habits. The bright explosions enticed Riley and he picked up a carbine that lay on the floor by his position.

"I wanna try! I wanna try! Let me get one!" he said excitedly in Karmo's direction.

"Knock yourself out. Saves ammunition for me," he said, sitting down behind his cargo module cover, guessing that it might take the new Elite a while. Riley used the scope of the weapon to get the nearest Sentinel in sight. Humming to himself, he aimed at a machine hosing the Arbiter's cover with a laser and the crosshair turned red. He fired seven rounds at the robot. It ceased fire on the holy warrior and turned to Riley, making a mechanical noise. Riley lowered his weapon, favouring the robot with a look of fear. It blinked its light once and began barreling down on him. Riley yelled and ran out from behind the wall.

"It's out for blood!" he hollered as he dove behind a wide pillar.

"Honestly," 'Scone' said as he sent several bolts of plasma to the Sentinel, which finished it off.

"Well, you were _almost_ there," Karmo said as he passed Riley and continued down a ramp.

"_I_ think I did pretty well for my first try," Riley said, a little embarrassed.

A flat ship resembling a horseshoe crab had been placed near the back of the bay, in front of two large blast doors. Vibrant lettering on the side of the witch ship read _The Horseshoe Crab Ship_. The Arbiter heard something on the team frequency and listened in.

"_Open the blast doors, Arbiter, so I may drop off the second squad_," Tartarus's gruff voice sounded loudly.

"_Oh my Prophets! Hi, Tartarus_!" Riley said over the team comm.

"……_What_?" the Brute answered.

"_Oh, come on, don't act like you don't know me! You spent the good part of your morning carrying me around from place to place_!"

"……_Arbiter, hurry,_ now!"

"_Hey! By the way, I've got a song for you! It goes like this_—" The whole squad was spared Riley's singing by Tartarus cutting off his connection.

"I want to live in your world for like, a few units, so I may see what it is like," "Scone" said to Riley.

"If you don't like bubblegum, Christmas, or the death metal voice, you'll hate it," Riley answered.

Meanwhile, the Arbiter was across the room, busy reading the panel to open the doors. "Arm yourselves! The sound of the doors might draw the witches from their holes!" he ordered, touching the corresponding panel. There was a slight rumbling noise and a loud sigh as the doors came apart, ushering in a strong wind. Tartarus's Phantom decelerated to the entrance split seconds later. The team of Elites heard the same distinct chirps as before and turned to find a fresh supply of Sentinels pour into the room. Luckily, the team didn't have to take any action, for the supporting Phantom took out all of the flying machines.

"_It's okay, Tartarus, you don't have to send any more of mah sangz, we've still got all of our guys and we haven't seen any witches in here yet_," Riley said over the team comm.

"No! What are you talking about?!" the Arbiter yelled.

"……_Works for me_," Tartarus chuckled as the Phantom turned and hovered away.

"The Prophets chose _you_?" Karmo sneered.

"Relax! Maybe he is right. We don't necessarily need the next group. None of us have died yet," Norda said, defending Riley.

"Thanks, Norda," Riley replied.

"Since _when_ is the lowest-ranking Sangheili in charge of our mission?" Karmo questioned.

"Whoa now, son, let's be _real_ cool, I don't want any trouble," Riley said, holding his hands up in submission.

"Well, we are certainly not going to quell any witchery if we are quarrelling amongst ourselves," the Arbiter said, as he brandished his energy blade and stalked up a ramp. Karmo grunted in disapproval at Riley and brushed past him. The young Sangheili ignored the spiteful actions and adjusted his glasses, keeping his features firm.

"More witches! They are entering from the back of the room!" Utta yelled, pointing to a door located at the rear of the hanger. It flashed blue and two Grunts with plasma cannons followed by angry, activist Elites rushed forth. One had a baseball bat and was shouting "fight war, not wars!"

"Retrieve that bat!" Karmo yelled, reloading a carbine.

"This one is mine," Norda said to Riley, pulling his blade out with celerity as he rushed for the witch. Both soldiers swung at the same time, weapons clashing. The metal bat was severed as the sword spit static in the air. The sinner was about to try another swing, when a swipe from behind made a deep and fatal gash across the back of his neck, nearly severing his head. He toppled over on to Norda, purple blood streaking his shiny black armour. With a growl, he threw the corpse away.

"You stole my kill," he grunted to the Arbiter who promptly ignored him. "Somebody deal with those turrets!" he instructed as his body was splashed with enemy plasma, dropping his shields as he ducked behind a pillar.

"I'm on the case!" Riley said, activating a plasma grenade and pitching it between the two Grunts. He lobbed it dramatically and it fused to the ground. Before both Grunts could take evasive action, it detonated, sending one face-first into a wall, and wounding the other. Karmo finished it off with a point-blank shot from his carbine.

"You have a good arm there, Riley," Norda said, slowly emerging from his cover.

"Why thank you! Apparently, plasma grenades are my forté," he answered with a chuckle.

"Are there any more?" the Arbiter inquired, jumping down from the upper ledge, shields recharging.

"I believe that was all of them," Norda remarked.

"_Keep moving down. There should be a hanger below your position. We need to find the Anti-Prophet and kill him before the benefit show ends_," 'Vadumee said over the team frequency.

"But guys! If we go down, down, down, the flames will grow higher! And they'll burn, burn, burn the ring of fire," Riley commented speedily.

"What will happen?" the Arbiter inquired.

"Ha, ha, I don't know. I hate Johnny Cash," Riley said with a chuckle as the other Elites moved down.

The team fought diligently as they passed down ramps, sneaked through corridors, and disposed of their enemies, all while invisible……the only exception being Arby's sad excuse for active camouflage and Riley's lack of self-control. Once they had reached the hanger beneath their initial drop off, they could see the Anti-Prophet through the transparent doors. He had just finished fusing his guitar to a man-handled Banshee when the Arbiter arrived.

"Anti-Prophet! Come around and we shall settle this like proper Sangheili!" Karmo called out.

"Don't cry emo-child, if you hurry, you can still see my band play this evening. Fuck the Prophets," he ended on a sour note as he crawled into the craft and pulled out of the bay.

"_The Anti-Prophet is on the move, Arbiter! Take a Banshee but watch your back! I am sending one of our Phantoms to support you_," 'Vadumee instructed.

"Stay here. Another Phantom will arrive soon to transport you to the next location," the Arbiter said, hurrying up a ramp and through a door. The others watched him mount a Banshee and take off.

"_Soooooo_……I guess we're _alone_ now," Riley said, putting his arms around Norda and "Scone's" shoulders. "Have any of you heard of the band Kousin Kublaa? They're pretty sweet. They're human."

"Why are you so interested in human studies, 'Bodensee?" "Scone" asked.

"Why aren't _you_?" Riley countered, staring at him over his glasses.

"……Why _aren't_ I?" "Scone" echoed, looking extremely thoughtful.

They met up with the Arbiter and his thoroughly damaged Banshee roughly fifteen minutes later. The holy warrior was waiting for them outside the door to the complex. Luckily for them, the team rode in the safety of the Phantom, listening to the folk music "Scone" played on his flute, reading erotic magazines, and watching the holy warrior eliminate their enemies one by one.

"Is everyone accounted for?" he inquired as Commander Rtas 'Vadumee dropped down from the ship's grav lift.

"Indeed," the holy warrior answered, brandishing his energy blade.

Karmo and Norda were the first to enter, briskly surveying the area for potential threats. None were found. Cautiously, the Elites, aided now by another pair of Grunts, stepped into the first air lock.

"Area secured, Commander," Karmo reported.

"For now," 'Vadumee answered. He paused in the doorway, holding his head higher.

"What is it?" the Arbiter questioned the stiffened Commander.

"……That stench……I have smelt it before," he replied grimly.

"'Scone' did it," Riley said hastily.

"No I did not!" he growled.

"_No_! Not _that_ kind of stench……this means that—"

Utta 'Karmamee roared aloud, discarded his plasma rifle, and charged back through the door they entered from.

"By the Prophets," 'Vadumee sighed angrily as he ran after the other warrior.

"……What just happened?" Riley asked. The other warriors shrugged simultaneously. Riley, the Arbiter, and the others passed through the air lock into the adjoining room. 'Vadumee brought a struggling Utta back into the room.

"What's wrong?" Riley asked with much empathy.

"……'Karmamee and I both had horrific accounts of the Flood on a mission once," he said quietly. "I failed to remember he cannot hear anything of the parasite or, for Prophet's sake, be in contact with it. I do not know how he will fair on this mission."

"Oh, well, don't worry. _I_ can scare them away! Watch……BOO!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. The Grunt he yelled at screamed bloody murder and dropped his plasma pistol. It took off running around the room, lapping the large tank planted in the center a few times.

"It would appear that you only scare the Unggoy," the Arbiter commented.

"I disagree. _That_ was pretty frightening," Karmo said as the Commander caught the Grunt by the throat and threw him back on his pistol as the Arbiter led the team into the next chamber. Riley was the last to pass through the door. He stopped just short and stared at the wall. It was covered in a long, green streak. Curiously, he ran a finger over the streak and it came away covered in sludge.

"Ew, what's this stuff on the wall?" he inquired. "It smells like pee after you eat asparagus."

Norda turned around and examined Riley's claw. "It is everywhere," he added, staring at the enclosed space.

"Time is of the essence, 'Bodensee, come," Commander 'Vadumee said, placing a hand on the young warrior's back. Riley took one last observance of the room before wiping his finger off on the side of the tank and following the others.

They stepped out on to a near transparent floor on the first level of the complex. The squad heard a noise that sounded like an infant being attacked by a drill followed by distinctly Sangheili hollers and grotesque noises.

"What in the name of the holy rings _is_ that?" "Scone" questioned as everyone's attention was drawn to the floor. They could faintly make out a battle taking place right beneath their boots. Just as soon as he had commented, the noise stopped, and the movement came to a standstill once more.

"……Quick, before it comes back! We must find the Anti-Prophet and kill him," Karmo suggested.

"_Maybe_ they got attacked by postal workers? Those people are _vicious_," Riley threw in his two cents as the Elites dropped to the lower level in the next room.

"Postal workers?" the Arbiter asked.

"Yeah, you know, 'goin' postal'. Like that Earth phrase?" Riley prodded.

"I have no idea what that means."

An Unggoy was lazily sauntering around the door on the other side of the room, when a small orb rolled out of nowhere. Shimmering light fragments emerged from within and took the form of the Anti-Prophet himself.

"See! Witch!" the Grunt called out, opening fire on the holo.

"Hold your fire, _hold your fire_!" 'Vadumee said, pushing "Scone's" dual plasma rifles down.

"……I wondered who the fuckin' Prophets would send to shut me up, a motherfuckin' Arbiter……I'm flattered," he said.

"He is using a hologram. Come out, so we may kill you," the Commander said coolly.

The leader chuckled heartily. "Get in line." With that, his image disappeared.

"He's trapped himself inside the Orb of Confusion! Now we have the chance to take him out!" Riley declared, trying furiously to pry open the holo.

"No, you imbecile, he's somewhere in this station. Let us press forward," 'Vadumee said.

"Then can I keep this?"

"I do not care."

"Niiice."

Before the others could follow his orders, they heard a strange, metallic, somewhat fluid-like noise. In a moment's notice, an infection form dropped down onto one of the Grunts' heads.

"Oh my Prophets! A spider! Here, I'll get it!" Riley said, drawing his rifle.

"Very bad thing!" responded the Grunt, sprinting away from Riley, who engaged in the chase.

Dozens more began to leak into the room from dark corners and openings in the walls.

"Stand firm……the Flood!" the SpecOps Commander advised, slicing through the pods with his sword. In a second frenzied paroxysm, Utta lost all control and began tearing around the room, screeching hysterically. Riley began to taste a sweet film in the back of his throat as he slashed at a group of Flood coming his way. The room was in complete chaos as everywhere infection forms popped, shields sparked, and plasma scorched the floor, walls, and ceiling. After a full five minutes of infection form waves, the tide of parasites began to wane.

"Arbiter! Continue forward! I will meet up with you when reinforcements arrive!" the Commander yelled as he watched as the last group of infection forms overwhelmed a Grunt. The holy warrior dashed through the door, the other Elites in tow. Utta had stayed with the Commander.

They arrived out on a relatively small platform in a tall chamber with an immensely high ceiling. The walls were impacted with ledges and alcoves.

"What shall we do, Arbiter?" Karmo asked. "There is nowhere to go."

The Arbiter stepped onto the platform and a loud mechanical clank echoed through the chamber, causing the others to jump.

"Everyone, get aboard!" he ordered as the Sangheili hurried over. A few moments later, pistons rearranged themselves and the platform began to descend further into the misty chamber. A couple infection forms crawled up and over the foot-tall ledges and tried to jump the Elites. As more and more of the small creatures began to appear, Riley got into thinking about every single child's book and one-dollar-B-children's-movies he'd seen.

"'Scone'! Did you leave your flute in the Phantom?" Riley inquired.

"Riley, that's not going to help us now!" he snapped.

"Pull it out, I have an idea!"

"That's what _he_ said," "Scone" remarked cheekily.

"Why does everyone say that?! I don't know what that even means!" Riley complained.

"But—"

"—Don't argue, play man, _play_!"

In utter confusion, "Scone" got out his flute hastily, put it together swiftly, and played an E scale and arpeggio. Immediately, all of the infection forms in the area stopped and faced "Scone". Riley smiled and laughed. The other warriors exchanged glances. "Scone" put down his flute for a moment. The Flood surged back into a frenzy, attacking the soldiers. He put it up to position again and played the intro to another folk piece. The Flood ceased movement again and gathered around the Elite, scurrying in a slow circle.

"_I told you_! I told you, I told you, I told you!" Riley yelled.

"Alright, we understand, you were right for once, focus on the fight!" the Arbiter said as he pointed to a couple of combat form Floods who were scaling the walls.

"Wow……I wish _I_ could do that," Riley commented with a nod as the combat forms perched on the apertures in the walls.

The whole……ride……consisted of continuous attacks from both Flood and Sentinels alike as the team of Sangheili searched for any trace of their prize, the Anti-Prophet. "Scone" entranced the infection forms with his delightful music, the Arbiter and the others fought tooth and nail, and Riley panicked as he hid beneath the ramps and dashed about like an epileptic church mouse.

"That was _the worst_ ride I've _ever_ been on," Riley announced as the elevator came to a halt and its pistons latched onto the final dock.

"We should have brought weapons to burn these bodies. Every one is a vessel for the Flood," Karmo said, stepping over a dead combat form.

"I don't like _these_ Flood very much. These ones are mean," Riley commented, adjusting his glasses. "Did you hear what that one called me? He said I was a 'filthy pile of capitalistic alien-garbage'!"

"You'll just have to get used to it. There's no telling _how_ many we will meet in this station," "Scone" said, shoving a cleaning rag through his flute before the team stepped onto the second level of a laboratory filled with combating witches and Flood.

The battle in the laboratory was long and unforgiving. Flood continued to pour in like maggots to a decaying corpse and the unwanted arrivals of witch soldiers didn't go over well with the "Repentance League" Elites. Riley's systematic holler of "the saddest of days!" every time a new enemy appeared also proved to be another nuisance they would rather have done without.

After all was said and done, the warriors were thoroughly exhausted and left with nearly depleted weaponry. A moment of rooting through the bodies and an arms exchange proved to remedy that problem. They headed through a door on the opposite side of the dimly lit room and into the next security lock.

"_Arbiter! The parasite is spreading and we do not have enough troops to contain the outbreak! Find the Anti-Prophet, kill him_ now!" the Commander frantically ordered.

"You know, the Commander always talks to the Arbiter and never to us as group. That's kind of hurtful," Riley noticed as the doors hissed open. No sooner had it done so a trio of carriers turned and began a steady approach to the Elite team. They, and their infection forms, were soon mopped up by a friendly Phantom. It dropped a squad of kilt-wearing Sangheili to the station landing pad, picked up the other team, and sped off.

"……Dude……I get to hang with 'fer-in-ners'," Riley said with a chuckle as the new team of SpecOps Sangheili came to terms with reality and realised they were paired with "the new laddy" once more. Ignoring the new trouble, and with the blue-armoured rookie in tow, the Elites filed up a ramp and disposed of anyone, or anything, that got in their way messily and loudly.

They dragged Riley through chambers, passageways, and delivery bays filled with explosive iron ore containers, Sentinel guards, and Flood. No matter how reluctant they seemed, the new team always managed to lend Riley a helping hand when he needed it. They watched over each other with unmatched camaraderie. When they were so unfortunate as to lose one member of the group, the whole team paused and performed a quick, thirty-second ceremony for him. Riley enjoyed the company of the new team. There was an extraordinary amount of brotherhood and togetherness that seemed to bond the Elites and make them _more_ than a Special Operatives team. Aside from the fact that they were large, intimidating, powerful warriors, he wished that he could always have a squad like them around when he fought.

After what felt like a whole age to Riley, the team, minus two of its original members, arrived at a large chamber that was teaming with dueling Sentinels and Flood combat forms. Although he spent most of his time hiding underneath a spiraling ramp, Riley did what he could to aide his brothers in their pitched battle. However, his efforts proved to be less than enough, for the remaining two Elites met an untimely end. Feeling somewhat guilty, he emerged from his cover as 'Vadumee's team entered through the air lock and met up with Riley.

"……Where is Commander 'Mackee's team, Riley?" 'Vadumee inquired.

"Um……they, well……they're taking naps," Riley said, pointing to a severely burned body. 'Vadumee's team wasn't won-over.

"……Riley?"

"……Yes?" he answered the Commander.

"Come over here, would you please?" he asked calmly.

Riley reluctantly inched a foot closer.

"Closer."

Another two feet.

"No, closer."

Three more feet.

"Come now, do not be afraid."

Riley inched the rest of the way and stood solemnly in front of his commanding officer.

"……Yes?" he asked again.

The Commander leaned in slowly, opening his jaws.

"……_WHY_?!" he yelled in Riley's ear as loud as he could.

"Sweet Georgia Brown!" Riley screamed, gripping the sides of his head.

The Commander wasted a precious three minutes chewing Riley out for not being a decent soldier, not protecting the honour of his clan, and blamed him for his partner leaving him some-odd years ago. The whole time this was going on, "Scone" repeatedly tapped him on the shoulder, trying to get his attention to tell him the Anti-Prophet was over at the other end of the room replacing a string on his guitar.

"WHAT?!" 'Vadumee finally roared, turning to "Scone" and shoving his hand away.

"Aren't you fuckheads even going to _notice_ me?" Sesa 'Blasfemeee asked loudly from the other end of the room as he shouldered his instrument.

"Annihilate the non-believer!" the Arbiter ordered as he took up his energy blade and charged after the Anti-Prophet. He had nearly reached him and was about to swing his blade, when Sesa comically took one giant step back through a door covered in a blue energy-shield. The Arbiter ran smack into the door as his blade ricocheted off of the shielding. He crumpled to the floor in a heap.

"Hey! That's not fair! You can't use shields or protection potions!" Riley said.

"Well, I just did, capitalistic machine. This will protect my benefit show from the storm, good luck tryin' to find shelter from the oncoming REBELution," he laughed as the door slid to a shut.

"Arby, did that hurt? It looked like it did," Riley asked as the holy warrior rose from the floor.

"As far as I am concerned, that moment _never_ happened," he answered.

"……Stinking Flood-bait's boxed himself in tight. We'll never break through this!" the Commander said.

"Well, looks like we'll just have to go home then," Riley said, turning in the direction of the other door. The Arbiter grabbed a hold of one of the young Elite's gauntlets before he passed him.

"……Then we shall _force_ him out."

"How?" 'Vadumee questioned.

"The cables……I am going to cut them," he answered.

"You can't do _that_ on TV," Riley said.

"Get everyone back to the ship," the Arbiter ordered stoically.

"_Including_ Riley?" Riley said hopefully. He was just beginning to follow the other Elites out, when 'Vadumee grabbed a hold of the scruff of his neck.

"Where do you think _you_ are going?"

"Um……I was hoping to go with you guys and not have to be Sentinel'd or Flooded anymore."

"But, Riley, aside from the Arbiter, _you _are the most important warrior we have," the Commander lied.

"……Really?"

"Indeed."

"……No."

"Oh, but you are. The Arbiter cannot defeat the Anti-Prophet without your help. Which is why you need to stay here and die—I mean _try_, _try_ to help him."

"Hey, you said—"

"—Everyone! Get back to the Phantom! The Arbiter is going to stay here and cut the cables to the station! That should draw Anti-Prophet from his hole!" he announced to the others, who had already headed back to the exit. "Keep your blade handy, I doubt the cable can withstand its bite," he advised the holy warrior.

"But, but, but—" Riley stuttered.

"Good luck, Arbiter," Karmo said.

"We shall not forget your sacrifice," "Scone" added.

"If you manage to stay alive, call me. We'll go get a drink sometime," Norda said cheekily to the younger sang.

"Uh……" Riley answered. With that, Norda winked at him and followed the others out. "……Let's go cut some cables, dawg," Riley said intensely to the holy warrior. Shaking his head, he started up the spiraling ramp to the next level of the station. "You know, I'm good friends with the Flood. Perhaps if you guys let me talk with them instead of killing them, I could persuade them to let us cut the cables or have them be on our side or something against the witches."

"You also have acquaintances with the parasite? No wonder you were under suspicion by the High Council," the Arbiter commented.

"Yep. They're just haters, but it's alright, because I know they see me. So……I guess you and I are both apart of the 'Heretic Fifteen', now."

"'Heretic Fifteen'? What are you talking about?" the Arbiter inquired, stopping short of a lift at the top of the spiraling ramp.

"Yeah. You, me, and thirteen other guys were questioned by the Prophets because they all thought we were witches or heretics or whatever they want to be calling us at the moment."

The Arbiter tried not to ponder on this. It was bad enough that he had been demoted and ultimately discharged dishonourably from the Covenant army, now he would forever be remembered as "that guy". Solemnly, he pressed a button on the light panel and the lift ascended.

"First floor, sporting goods, lingerie, and giant cables to construction stations. What _is _lingerie, anyway?" Riley asked the Arbiter after thinking about it for a second or two.

"I think it is a type of bread," the holy warrior answered emotionlessly.

"Oh. I always assumed it was like, stuff that you would buy to make your front yard look nice, seeing as the word 'lawn' is it's prefix."

"I do not know, 'Bodensee."

"Are 'Scone' and Norda dating or something?"

"How would I know?"

"Well, I can totally tell they're in love."

"Because they are constantly fighting?"

"Exactly! That's what you do in a union. You fight with each other," Riley laughed heartily.

The lift ride was very long but it brought them to where they needed to go……the Room of the Cables. It was teeming with Flood and Sentinels, a difficult endeavor indeed. An ex-Elite combat form was even waiting for them as soon as the lift came to a halt. Raising his energy sword, the Arbiter prepared to strike, but the kindly ambassador Riley stepped forward and took hold of his arm.

"Wait! Let me try to talk to them!" he suggested. The Arbiter let him go through with his plan because the Flood wasn't making any advances on them and he figured if everything went horribly wrong, the younger soldier would be eaten, mutilated, or otherwise bodily harmed.

"Um, excuse me, Flood, sir?" Riley began, clearing his throat. He strode up to the angry parasite, who was standing with his arms crossed over his large chest. "Um, yeah. I'm tight with your buddies from the other Halo, the ones with the armbands and the shouty voices, so it's cool."

The Flood made a grotesque noise that could have been an equivalent to a growl as he raised a carbine.

"M-Maybe you know them. Do you know a guy named Stanley or maybe a Patrick? Sometimes they call him 'Big—"

"—I don't know anyone by zat name," the combat form replied with severity. "And you're talking about fesciss. We hev zero tallarence for fesciss." Before he could further condemn the Elites, the Arbiter gave a mighty lunge forward and sliced the parasite in two.

"_Arbiter! The storm approaches_!" Tartarus said over the team frequency.

"Come! We do not have much time!" he instructed, grabbing Riley by the arm and dragging him up a ramp.

"No kidding," Riley agreed, looking to the outside world. Huge clouds of dust and debris swirled around and battered the construction station. Looking out longer, he noticed a cow, an old woman knitting, and two Floods in a row boat fly by, all of which he waved to.

"We have no time for this nonsense, 'Bodensee! This will be an easier task if we split up and both cut cables. Cut the one behind you, down there. If you finish before I do, cut the other on the opposite side of the room."

"Uh," Riley said, holding up a finger in protest.

"I will meet you back at the lift down there when all have been severed," the holy warrior concluded, making for the cable closest to him. Riley shrugged and went in the opposite direction. The station was held in place by three large Bungie cords of varying colours. Riley's was green. Looking upon it for some time, he shrugged again and got to work. Forgetting completely that the Flood had an energy sword which he dropped upon his death, he picked up a discarded needler, yanked a pink shard from the top, and began sawing meticulously at the cord, singing Fred Astaire's hit "Top Hat, White Tie, and Tails" while he worked. It had been stuck in his head ever since he mentioned he liked his films.

He had only cut through it halfway when the Arbiter approached him from behind. Having cut the remaining two cables, he was impatiently waiting for the younger warrior.

"You still have not finished yours?" he demanded, frustrated.

"Hey, I'm _doing _my part for the team, alright?" sassed Riley.

"Stand aside," the older warrior instructed, shoving his accomplice out of the way and, aiming a strong swing at the cord, severed it with only one slice. There was a series of loud noises consisting of violent snapping, sickening creaking, and a dangerous scraping of metal.

"Uh oh," said Riley as he looked around. No sooner had he said that, the station began to freefall. All around them, Flood flew straight up in the air. The remnants of the cords flapped helplessly as the wind rushed around them with hurricane force.

"_That is it! The station is in freefall_!" 'Vadumee said over the team comm.

"Back to the lift!" the Arbiter ordered as he moved down a ramp. Making an attempt to jump down to the ramp, Riley found himself suspended in air for a few moments.

"I'm flyingggggg!" he shouted as he drifted over towards the lift, over the Arbiter's head.

"He can fly?" one Flood form said to another.

"He can fly," his comrade answered with a nod.

"What is going on? Come down from there this instant!" the Arbiter demanded.

"Okay, okay, sheesh," the spectacled Sangheili sighed, landing on the lift pad. Upon activating it once more, it descended at a frightening speed. Riley grabbed a hold of the Arbiter.

"……Are we going to die?" he asked in a fake English accent as he stared straight ahead. The holy warrior merely rolled his eyes.

"_The Anti-Prophet is on the move! Do_ not_ let him escape! We'll stay with you as long as_—"

"—_Arbiter? You're still alive! I can't believe it!_" the voice of another Special Ops officer interrupted the Commander. It sounded like "Scone".

"_Do not interrupt me, you moron_!" 'Vadumee scolded. The room they left had been refilled with scores of Flood and Sentinels. Fighting their way down the ramp to the door they had seen the Anti-Prophet leave through proved to be a long and difficult task, but it would have surely had a disastrous and even more difficult outcome had Riley helped more than he did. After a grueling battle of three different kinds of enemies, they managed to pass through the unlocked door and continue on their quest to find the leader of the REBELution.

The rest of their adventure was long and brutal, filled with rooms teeming with combating Flood and Sentinels, darkened corridor skirmishes with even more Flood and witches, and Banshee piloting during the maelstrom which was predicted by the illustrious Covenant weather team.

Finally, they had finished off all of the enemies in a corridor aglow with eerie red lights.

"Is it just me……or do you hear music?" Riley inquired of the Arbiter.

"Yes……yes, I do hear something. It appears to be emitting from somewhere close to our position."

"I _really_ hope it's Elvis Costello. If it is……I'm gonna be the happiest Sangheili in the galaxy."

Both Elites searched the area thoroughly, expecting a witch coven ambush at any moment. Fortunately, it never came. Suddenly, the station grew silent once more.

"Whoa, it stopped!" Riley said.

"I think it was coming from behind this door," the Arbiter said, drawing his energy blade. Riley hugged his carbine close and ascended the ramp to the holy warrior's position. "Be ready for anything and everything. The coven might be in here," he advised.

Stepping in front of the door, it slid open and revealed the highly alarmed members of Sesa 'Blasfemeee's band. The Spartan, Elite, and Jackal were all standing on the loading area underneath a ship, their attention being focused on something that was on the ground a few feet away.

"Um……wot do we do now?" the Jackal questioned, looking up at the Spartan.

"Uh……" he started, looking around. "Leave?" he concluded. Shouldering his bass, he shimmed up a pillar and jumped on top of the ship, entering it from above. The other members followed, loading what instrument parts they could into the ship before taking off.

"Arby, what's going on exactly?" Riley asked.

"We will found out now," he answered, dashing up to the raised loading area and calling out. "Come out, Anti-Prophet! I wish to spill your blood in the name of the Covenant!"

Meanwhile, as the Arbiter recited a brilliant monologue of smack talk, Riley investigated the first level. He was rather shocked when he arrived at the middle pillar, ten feet from the Arbiter.

"Uh, Arby? You _might_ want to look at this," he said. Jumping down to Riley's position, he stared at what the young Sangheili was pointing at. The Anti-Prophet, Sesa 'Blasfemeee, was lying on his side, absolutely prone.

"Daaang. That's one tuckered out sang," Riley commented with a nod.

"Somehow, I doubt that he is sleeping, Riley."

"……Pst! Sesa! Time to get up! Pst! C'mon now, you have to get up so the Arbiter can kill you," Riley whispered harshly, prodding him with his boot. "Hey, Arby, poke him with your sword."

"I do not wish to poke him, _you_ do it," he answered.

"……_Ah, heroin. It's quite a drug, from what I've heard_," both Elites started as they heard a mechanical voice from behind them.

"The Oracle!" the Arbiter stated.

"Heeeeeey! It's the radio! What's goin' on, radio? Do you remember me, from Halo? I see you're still playin' that boring old talk show," Riley laughed heartily. Without another word, 343 Guilty Spark turned and began floating away.

"Wait, Oracle! This Anti-Prophet died from a heroin overdose?" he inquired.

"……_I will only answer you if the blue one stays over there_," Spark replied.

"Riley, stay put," the holy warrior ordered.

"No way! I ain't standin' next to no _dead_ guy!" Riley answered.

"That is it? There will not be a battle? We do not have to heroically defend our belief in the Covenant and challenge the one who defies us?"

"_Apparently not. It is most unfortunate that a leader such as he would suffer premature demise at the hands of a controlled substance_," 343 Guilty Spark sighed.

"Well, it is a good thing he did. This Anti-Prophet impeded the Great Journey," the Arbiter explained.

"_Great Journey? Why do you continue to_—" Before the Monitor had a chance to finish his sentence, a pulse of energy struck him. Being pulled backwards to the doors of the hanger, the Arbiter noticed the Brute Chieftain Tartarus standing with the Fist of Rukt. The Monitor was forcefully attached to the gravity hammer.

"That is the Oracle!" the Arbiter exclaimed.

"Yes……so it is. Come, the council is waiting," he said, carelessly ripping the machine off of his hammer and tossing it over his great shoulder into a gravity lift.

"Oh my Prophets, it's Tartarsauce!" Riley said quickly with a laugh.

"……Bring the annoying one with you," Tartarus said with much distaste as he turned towards the lift.


	7. Chapter 7: Brave New World

**Chapter VII: Brave New World**

**UNSC frigate **_**In Amber Clad**_** (**_**Rattlesnake Gorillafuck**_**)/Location: Brave New World (another Halo)/Location Location: Location (it's what it's all about)**

The UNSC frigate _In Amber Clad_ lurched through the slipstream rupture, sending Miranda Keyes

and her pilots face-first into the observation window.

"Okay……_that_ made my face hurt," Miranda commented, pealing herself off of the thick window.

"'Cuz it's killin' me," Lieutenant Dalloway laughed, mutilating the joke.

"……Henry, do you remember what happened to the Lieutenant who served under me before _you_?"

Dalloway thought. "……You mean, Haines, ma'am?"

"Ah, just the one, _glad you remembered_," her tone changed from calm and collected to threatening. Haines was MIA, Miranda'd In Action. No one knew of his whereabouts after that. Not ONI, not Oden, and not either of her current Lieutenants.

"Remember not to forget……now, where the hell we at?" she ordered.

"We're just drifting at the moment," Lieutenant Oleander answered, shaking his trauma off and finding his seat.

"Did you get your ship license out of a cereal box?" Miranda demanded.

"Well, actually, there's kind of a funny story—" Oleander stopped mid-sentence as everybody turned their attention to the outside regions of space.

"Um……Cortana? Would you mind telling me what the frigate I'm looking at?" Miranda asked.

"_That_ is another Halo," she stated matter-of-factly.

Miranda, Dalloway, Oleander, Johnson, and the Master Chief all looked towards windows or viewing panels and exclaimed "what?!" within half a second of one another. The Chief broke the comical chain by saying "huh?" instead.

"_Aw c'mon, Chief! You wrecked it_!" Dalloway whined on the team frequency.

"Why, Chief, _why_?" Johnson demanded.

"Go figure," Miranda said. "Hm……so this is what Jacob must have found. I thought this thing was supposed to be some kind of doomsday device, what are you gonna do with it? Throw it on a Coke bottle and _win_ universal domination?"

"Psh, no! It's a Halo! You know, for kids!" Vincent explained.

"Oh, duh," she replied sarcastically.

"It _is_ actually a weapon, Commander. One with vast, unimaginable powers. If the Covenant gain control over it, there's no doubt that they'll fire it and destroy all signs of life in this galaxy."

"If _anyone_ is gonna get a hold of a weapon like that……it's gonna be Miranda Keyes," she said menacingly.

"I thought you were 'Starla'?" Henry asked.

"Psh, I got over that. We _all_ have a 'Starla' phase, right Vinny?" she asked, turning to her other Lieutenant. His seat was vacant.

"He went to the john," Henry informed. Moments later, Vincent returned. He was wearing a blonde wig and sat down as if everything was of the norm. Dalloway wore an expression of complete shock and mass creeped-outitude.

"So, what's the plan—" Vincent noticed the looks he was receiving and raised an eyebrow. "……What are you guys looking at?"

"See? Told you, 'Starla' phase. It's different for everybody" Miranda whispered to Dalloway.

"What the hell are you doing, Vincent?" Dalloway proceeded to question.

"Guys, it's not Vincent anymore, it's 'Valencia'," he corrected.

"Um……Commander? Is everything okay up there?" Cortana asked.

"Uh, yeah, we're just trying to find ourselves before we get outta high school," Miranda said. "So, what were we talking about again?"

"How about the fact that there's a _second_ Halo," Cortana said, sounding peeved.

"_Alright, alright, yeesh! Clam up, computer. Alright, here's the plan. Johnson, take your squad and go somewhere that's far away from me and the white people. Chief, secure a landing zone so we can drop troops and supplies, away from the_ skinny _white people_. I'm _gonna keep a low profile_ _with the white people so the Covenant don't find out where we are_. I'm _on the 'Galaxy's Most Wanted' list_," Miranda ordered.

"Along with all the white people?" Johnson added.

"_Exact_—hey!"

"Jackpot." Taking a few puffs on his cigar, he pounded on the Chief's pod twice with a fist as he passed. The Master Chief reciprocated as he said, "understood."

"_When you touch down, radio in so I'll know you got out of your drop pod without getting stuck, Edie McLard_," Miranda added.

The Spartan chose to ignore the Commander.

"_See you later, Johnson! Don't let your nignorance get the best of you_!" she happily concluded in her orders for the Sergeant as he made for the nearest Pelican.

"Hang on to your helmet," Cortana advised as his drop pod began hissing. In no time, the line of pods released, the Chief's being the last. He felt the exhilarating falling phenomena as the capsule rapidly accelerated down to the surface of the ring. Somewhat similar to the late Major Antonio Silva's drop pod, the Master Chief found himself unable to use the safety restrains to hold himself in on account of his bulky MJOLNIR armour.

"Mind the bump," Cortana said as the Master Chief felt himself being jostled around in the craft's painfully tight space. His claustrophobia wasn't helping his cause and made him feel even more uncomfortable. The Chief's and the ODST's pods reached the point where the safety chutes would be free to open. One by one, they sprang open and each pod drifted down to the surface of the new Halo, trailing a line of smoke and flame as they went.

"—And that is about it. Do you understand? The Prophets gave you _specific_ orders to patrol with the forces here to make sure 'the Daemon' has not desecrated _this_ ring."

"Righty-oh!" Riley answered Special Operatives Commander Rtas 'Vadumee.

"Excellent. Good luck……you will need it," he said as the door to the Phantom's troop bay shut and the ship began to ascend.

"Don't you worry, Commander! I'll do my absolute best! You can't count on me! If I see Dave, I'll make sure to say 'hi' to him from you! You won't be disappointed!" Riley said as he waved to the ship. Watching the Phantom disappear from view, he sighed deeply. Before he could make another move, he was tackled roughly and his eyes were covered.

"Guess 'oo ih is!" came a distinctly cockney voice.

"Oh my Prophets, no way!" Riley said, turning around and finding Hanjk standing behind him.

"_I'm_ here, too," Peter said, sounding a little unloved.

"I am soooooo happy to see you guys!" Riley said, hugging both of his lower class pals, lifting them off of the ground. "So, which orders of the military kind placed you on this loverly ring?"

"Patrol. Wur sapposed ta be up there inna tarret, but nothin's 'appened all day. Ah don' fink we gonna see anythin'," Hanjk explained.

"Would you guys rather come on patrol with _me_?" Riley inquired. "I could use some backup for 'all the humans that are scurrying around here'."

"Abso-bleedin-lutley! Tha Sankalee 'oo are in chahge a' this area are prolly up ta some hanky-panky in tha roons ova there, innyway."

"Oh," Riley said, chancing a look at the ruins. "Eh, wouldn't be surprised. Well then, let's go on an adventure!" Riley said as they took off over a small hill and out of the Forerunner ruins.

Captain TJ Anderson sat in his room, staring at a gently throbbing pustule of Flood flesh. He lay on his back on a soft, cushioning mound of flesh. He couldn't fight the memories of his quarters back on their Halo. He was forced to share with one quarter of the Schützstaffeln officers. At first, he despised it on the grounds that many of the officers were obnoxious and their idiosyncrasies were hardly tolerable. Officer Nuremberg was also assigned to the same quarters and insisted on sleeping next to Anderson. He was just lucky that he was given a cot, because of his rank, and didn't have to use the floor and his overcoat like the others. Even through all of the cons, he wondered how he would fair sleeping by himself. The company of others while he slept had grown on him and now that he felt even lonelier, chances were good that it might prove to be a difficult task.

A couple of hours had passed since Stanley and others went for their prance around the city and they had since returned. To his knowledge and judging by the volume of noise in the house, he concluded that most, if not all, of the soldiers had retired to their rooms. They had had a busy and exhausting couple of days. Letting a heavy sigh pass through him, Anderson pulled himself off of the mound and sauntered over to the opening that served as a window. He had a lovely view of the back lots of other houses and flesh facilities. He took out his host body's grandfather's pocket watch from a breast pocket on his black tunic. It was almost three o'clock. He put his watch away and leaned on the side of the window. Anderson had just gotten comfortable, when he heard a groaning noise. Craning his head around, he witnessed Stanley entering his room, the thick flesh pulling apart for him.

"Well, if it isn't Colin Craven. I see you finally learned how to walk," Stanley asked cheekily.

"……I _get it_, all right? I don't have any more authority over you. Please stop rubbing my face in it," Anderson said mournfully, turning back to the window.

"You know I'm only joking, right?" Stanley corrected, choosing to stand next to the former Captain.

"Yes, I suppose there will be a new holiday on next year's calendar. 'Make Fun of Anderson Day'," he replied, without breaking his attention to the outside world. "How was the city?"

"Well, I got stopped by the KGB," he said casually, stretching both of his arms. Anderson turned his head, a confused stare about his gaunt face.

"What was that?" he inquired.

"Yep. It's almost like back home. Guards everywhere stopping you and asking you where you're going and what you should be doing. I think _you'd_ get along with them well, all you need is a horrendously fake Russian accent and you're golden."

Anderson shut his eyes and turned back towards the window again. "……I don't really want to think about the Schützstaffeln right now. In fact, I don't want to think about it ever again."

"Why not? I thought you loved your job. Or……did you finally figure out that those double S's stood for 'Sex Slave'?"

The former Captain confronted Stanley, his expression immediately adopting puzzlement. "How long did you know about that?"

"Psh, since Ivan put it in place! _I_ was the one who guessed it. Would have had _a lot_ of weapons and sexual favours to collect had our ring not have exploded. You mean you _didn't_ know? Even when you signed up?"

Anderson shook his head slowly.

"……Wow. I just figured you were _proud_ of being one of Ivan's most beloved boytoys. I can't believe you weren't aware."

"……Ivan never told me about anything like that. He never mentioned on-demand favours. After the first couple nights I was promoted to Captain of the SS, he did a very good job of seducing me. We had sex, and……I thought _I_ was the only one he had relations with," Anderson explained. "I thought he actually _loved_ me. Little did I know he would be messing around with Hindenburg, Löhmann, General Kolwitz……who knows how many members of the SS," he continued, clenching his teeth. He placed a hand over his eyes as he shook his head. Stanley couldn't help but feel sorry for the former Captain. He was fooled and manipulated by his leader, someone he looked up to and admired. He was just doing what he was told in the long run, he had no choice.

"……What did you see in him, as a leader?"

"……Do you remember when we made that pilgrimage? You know, to Halo's control room, right before the election?"

"I do."

"……When I heard him speak there, before the Sentinels showed up and ultimately the agents of Führer Gravemind……he immediately won me. He survived the struggle with the Forerunners back on G617g1, he organised the party……I thought he could do _anything_. And his voice……you must have gone to at least one rally. His promises, his ideas……they were like a new hope, like a silver, no, a _golden_ lining. They were so wonderful and he was so confident, I didn't think we'd _ever_ be defeated with him leading the way. Did you read any part of his book? No, you probably avoided that like the plague."

"If you're talking about his _manuscript_, I've read some parts. Regular books over two hundred pages don't capture my attention well and seven-hundred-page fascist manifestos _definitely_ don't. But I suppose the pen's mightier than the sword."

The two parasites went silent.

"……What did you see in him as a lover?"

Anderson was quiet for a lengthy amount of time. "……Opportunity."

"So, you didn't love him?"

"Oh, of course I loved him. I would have said yes if he proposed to me, but……I wanted to be in the upper echelons of the military. I wanted to be one of the highest-ranked. I thought if I did whatever he wanted he would promote me."

"_Whatever _he wanted?"

"Well, even I had to draw the line somewhere."

"I suppose you got what you wanted in the end," Stanley said, touching the white lapels on his tunic and letting his hand drift over to the rope-like decorations looped through his right epaulette.

"I suppose so."

"Was it worth it?"

The Captain lowered his head and turned back to the window. "……I don't know," he whispered.

Stan reached out and gently placed his arm around the other Flood's shoulders.

"……I'm sorry for what happened to you. Ivan was a tyrant, fanatic, and a sociopath. He won the respect of his people……well, most of his people……and he could communicate and get his message across, which inspired and enticed guys like you. Then he had the balls to hoodwink his followers and manipulate you in order to get what he wanted. He had no right to treat the people who loved him in such a way. For what he did to you, I'm truly sorry. I'm also sorry for picking on you so much. I'll try and do my best to stop……you don't deserve it, not after what you've gone through."

"Will you tell the others to stop as well?"

"Don't worry about it, I gotcha covered," Stanley said with a smile. Anderson managed a weak smile as well.

"Priv—Stanley…… may I address you without your rank?" he said.

"I don't really think I have a rank for you to use, come to think of it."

"I suppose not……anyway, thanks, Stanley."

"Don't mention it."

"You know, in case you haven't already figured it out……I'm actually rather attracted to you."

"No, not _you_."

"……I uh, don't mean to sound desperate, but……you know when we were on the Pelican this morning and you told me that if I was interested, you'd give me rebound action?"

Stanley chuckled, rolling his eye again. "Took you_ this_ long to make up your mind?"

"No, I knew. I just didn't want to deal with Patrick. If you're still up to it. I mean, I know you're with him and all—"

"—Psh, _hardly_. I'm getting so sick of his nagging all the time. Honestly, that guy chews on my ass far more than the entire Library _combined_ has. I've been toying with switching partners."

"We've all heard _that_ a million times," Anderson laughed.

"Yeah, I know."

There was an awkward moment of silence between both Floods. Finally, Anderson pulled his M6D pistol out of its holster and gently offered it to Stanley, butt first. He also held out a few magazines he had produced from his utility belt. Stanley looked a little confused.

"……I know what your rates are. I asked around a long time ago, but I was too nervous to approach you. I'm just sorry I don't have a better weapon to offer."

Stanley smiled smugly as he pulled the magazine out. "Fully loaded. Three extra clips. Looks like _someone's_ lookin' for a good time."

Anderson shrugged. "After reflecting on years of only Ivan, I'd take _anything_ to help me forget about him……except women. I don't like vaginas."

Stanley studied the pistol for a moment or two, then shook his head and handed it back to the former Captain. "Although I _am_ missing mine, I don't want to accept this. _This_ session is on the house."

"That's nice of you," Anderson said with a broad smile.

"What can I say? You're desperate and you've got a nice face," Stanley remarked with a shrug.

Both combat forms stripped each other of their uniforms and armour and prepared for a long and sensual afternoon. Stanley kneeled over Anderson as he unbuckled the Captain's belt-sash and unbuttoned his black SS tunic and collared shirt. Before Anderson could shrug the top half of his uniform off, Stanley stopped, removing an important-looking pin of the effstika and double-headed eagle insignia. It was fashioned out of gold and the double "F's" were expertly painted on.

"……Why are you still wearing this?" he questioned emotionlessly.

"Because you haven't finished taking it off yet."

"No, I'm talking about the _pin_."

"What pin?"

"I noticed you still have your armband too, the effstika one."

"What?" Anderson said, taking the pin from Stanley's hand and examining it. "Oh……to be honest, I totally forgot I was wearing this. All high-ranking officers got these," he explained.

"Right," Stanley said, snatching it back. "May I offer you a suggestion on what to do with this?"

"Before you—"

"—Too late." Stanley whipped the pin out of the window before Anderson could interject.

The pin landed on the ground outside, making a slight _clink_ noise as it made contact with the stone. This caught the attention of a patrolling guard. Straightening up at the sudden noise, he turned around and lumbered back a few paces. The combat form looked up at the nearest open window. He could hear what sounded like parasites getting busy. Standing directly underneath the room Anderson and Stanley occupied, he squatted down and plucked the pin from the ground. The guard examined it closely, running a claw through every single groove.

"……The insignia of 'Galactic Socialist Flood Workers Party," he concluded to himself. "Comrade Gravemind will want to know about ziss." Heaving himself up, the guard tucked the pin into a pocket of his heavy olive tunic and hurried back the way he came.

A few minutes after the Covenant team had split from their pack, the ODST pods began to stick themselves into Halo's surface. The black-armoured Orbital Drop Shock Troopers exited their pods as they blew the doors out, took up arms, and prepared for war.

Spartan-117's pod was the last to land and it took no shame in ejecting the super soldier clear out of its metal embrace upon impact. The Chief fell out and landed visor first. He groaned loudly as he slowly picked himself up and dusted himself off.

"Could we possibly make _any_ more noise?!" Cortana demanded as the ODSTs opened fire on the patrolling aliens and shouted insults. The Chief yanked a rocket launcher out of his craft and hefted it up on his shoulder. He also pulled out a battle rifle, two SMGs, a Casio keyboard, a copy of the noisecore compilation "I Hate the Government and My Next-Door Neighbours Vol. XVI", and threw a pile of grenades on the ground in front of him.

"……I guess _so_," the AI answered.

"Chief! We gotta neutralise those tarrets!" a soldier said with a distinct accent.

Looking upon the trooper and noticing he had a BR55 battle rifle when the Spartan had only an SMG, he grabbed the other human's gun, and shoved the SMG at him.

"I want this one," the Chief said, reloading the rifle.

"Um, what am I sapposed ta do with this?" the ODST inquired. The Chief took a moment or two to stare at him in false disbelief.

"Ha! Just kiddin', jk, jk," the soldier answered with a shrug. The sound of an approaching Grunt team was enough to get the Spartan to disregard the other soldier. "I really don't know how to use this," the ODST trooper said to himself with a paranoid tone.

"—An' so this otha toime, I was with me mum 'n we was down inna ciddy an' this old bloke, 'ee comes up in 'ee says ta me—"

"—Hanjk……I swear to the Forerunners, I'munna teach you how to talk!" Riley said, trying his absolute hardest to keep in all of his frustration. The small squadron of misfits hitched a ride from an Elite in a Wraith that had just been unloaded and was headed for his destination near some more ruins further inland.

"An wot's wrong with tha way I towk?! Ya bleedin' Sankalee's are all the same with ya _good gramma _and ya high_-Sankalee speak_ an' ya _rules_," Hanjk spat.

"His voice gives me a headache. I checked my methane tanks and I'm not low, so I know it's him," Peter said to the sang.

"Okay, Hanjk, you've just stepped into Talking 101 with Professor Riley 'Ultramazing' 'Bodensee." He took a hold of the mortar gun on top as it hit a bump.

"Ah thought this was a Wraith tank?" the Jackal replied.

"Hanjk, you're really making this more difficult than it needs to be, okay?!" Riley said angrily.

"Do you have a PhD?" Peter checked.

"……I have a PhGeeyou'reannoying!" the Elite retorted, getting up in his grill. Peter chose not to

continue. "We'll start with something easy, something with a rhyme. Hm, let me think……I got one for ya! Now repeat after me……the gears of war are really a bore when they haven't found a whore."

"Tha gears a' war is really a bore when they ain't found a whore."

"……Do you think this is funny?"

"Wot did I do wrong?!"

"Are you mocking me?"

"Wot?!"

"Hanjk, you have a problem! Listen to yourself! Ugh……this is gonna be one of those patrols. I can just tell."

The Master Chief waited for the rest of the ODSTs in the area to regroup. He had two left, a lethargic Corporal and a frighteningly chipper Private.

"_I got a good view up here! There's a big beel-din' in the middle of this island's lake_!" Johnson said over the team comm.

"Hooray," the Corporal said.

"_We saw that too. It must be some sort of temple or something. If I were a megalomaniac_, and I'm not, that's _where I'd be_," Cortana said.

"What's this 'we' business?" the Chief asked softly.

"I'd crusade with all my brothers, get rid of pagan druthers, but now I'm taken aback. I'd be worshipped, divine, all the heathens I would grind, if I only were a megalomaniaaac," the Private sang in the manner of the Scarecrow from "the Wizard of Oz", complete with odd faces.

"No singing," the Chief said, pointing a finger right in his odd face.

"_You_ are _a megalomaniac, Cortana_," Miranda said over the team frequency.

"_Do you even know what that is_?"

"……_Your_ mom's _a megalomaniac_." With that, her frequency cut off.

"Here's tha boid," the Corporal said in a distinct Jersey accent, referring to the Pelican that was descending near them. It quickly dropped off a Warthog for them and sped off.

"Okay gang! Let's go!" the chipper Marine said as he climbed into the passenger seat. The Corporal took to the turret. "Hi! I'm Private Bentley!"

"Why do I always get the happy-go-lucky guys?" Master Chief said to himself so the leatherneck wouldn't hear.

"What should I call _you_?" he said, leaning over his seat to face the soldier at the turret.

"……Bogart."

"Okay then. We're moving out now," the Chief instructed, hitting the gas.

"……I'manna beat my wife when I get home," Bogart replied. The Chief slammed on the brakes, causing everyone to lurch forward. He turned around slowly to Bogart.

"_What_ did you say?" he growled.

The Corporal looked rather afraid as his eyes darted from one side to the other.

"Don't you _ever_ lay your hands on a woman."

"What's the matter, Chief?" Bentley inquired.

"_I'm_ a feminist," the super soldier said. "Do I make myself clear?"

Bogart nodded vigourously.

"No need to get hostile, sir. Just go to your happy place and everything will be fine," the Private suggested in utter terror, like most Marines. Staring at the Private for a moment, he then resumed his duty and sped the Warthog over a hill. As soon as they neared a small clearing, three Jackals with particle beams opened up on the vulnerable human soldiers. Bentley hollered like a ninny as an energy beam nearly hit his helmet. Luckily, Bogart hosed them all down with the turret. Switching his SMG for one of the discarded beam rifles, the Chief promptly got back into the 'Hog and followed the trail until a large building came in sight. Jumping out of the LRV, the Spartan used the scope on the rifle to scan the area. It was loaded with alien troops sauntering around waiting for something to happen.

"Wow, it almost looks like a postcard. Dear Sarge, kickin' ass in space. Wish you was here," Bogart muttered to himself.

"_I heard that! Jackass_……" Sergeant Johnson managed to hear the Corporal. He had unknowingly bumped his radio on the turret and clicked it on. Bogart didn't respond.

"It's like he's god or something," Bently commented. He turned to the Spartan, peeking over the side of the LRV. "We're not gonna go down there, are we, sir?" he asked with the air of a frightened child.

"Why do you think I got out of the Warthog with a long-range rifle?" he asked of the Marine.

"……Because nothing can kill you. _Nothing_."

The Spartan ignored the youth and resumed his business of sniping. He took out all of the troops on foot, including the Elite commanders. Soon, several Ghosts driven by more Elites began to pour from the building and twice he had to return to the spot where the Jackals had been to switch for a rifle with a higher energy level. He had depleted all three of the particle beams before everything appeared to be clear. Having spared the Marines their lives and the Warthog its dignity, seeing as they now took damage, he returned and drove down to the building. In all of his concentration on the sniping, he hadn't taken notice of the Wraith that had crept into place on the other side of a small river.

"Ah! Mortar!" Bentley cried as the pulsing wad of blue-white headed right for them. The Chief, having only moments to act, managed to avoid it, but the bleed from the energy mortar caused his shields to flare and drop.

"Thanks," he said to the younger devildog.

He pulled up to a doorway on the front of the building to take some cover. Hopelessly, the Wraith pilot continued to fire his mortars at the imposing Forerunner establishment.

"How we sapposed ta get across that? Fly?" Bogart drawled.

"……I can make that happen, if you want," the cyborg said over his shoulder. "Hope that helmet is on tight."

"There should be some kind of control to extend the bridge to the other side. Let's check the inside of that structure," his AI buddy explained.

Chief stepped out of the LRV and carefully crept inside. Rifle at the ready, he heard commotion from another doorway. A diplomatic voice could be heard telling a story about the Covenant. It was accompanied by others as well, sounding like Grunts and their Elite master. The Chief pressed himself against a wall and listened in.

"It sounds like some sort of speech or sermon. It's standard Covenant liturgy, but I'll translate it as best I can," Cortana said.

_But he's speaking in English_, he thought. Figuring now would be a good time to strike, while they were distracted by the voice. The Spartan pinned a grenade and lobbed it so it bounced just off of the doorway. There were squeals of terror before the ensuing explosion. The super soldier cautiously entered the room and discovered both Grunts had perished and the Elite was only wounded. A couple rounds to the head served to silence him for good. In the center of the room there was a large hologram of a Prophet who was still blathering on about the Covenant and the price of pizza being too high. He also noticed a few blankets, which had been ripped to shreds from the grenade, were lying on the ground and there was a plate of cookies by the archway. Choosing to ignore the meaningless Covenant story, he made for the control panel that would extend the bridge to the other side with the Wraith. He left quickly, eager to get back into the action. The Chief returned, however, to retrieve the plate of cookies.

Upon his exit of the building, he found another Pelican was just dropping off a M808 Scorpion tank in front of him.

"Handy," he said as the metal behemoth clanked to the ground and the airship took off.

"_This one's on the house_!" the pilot said over the team frequency.

"I miss Foehammer," he said, lowering his head for a moment and remembering her jovial voice. "Stay in the Warthog and follow behind me when I give the order," he instructed the Marines as he climbed into the tank.

"Okey dokey, sir!" Private Bentley said with a salute.

"……I think I'll beat _you_ instead," Bogart said unfeelingly.

Riley lit his fifth cigarette of the hour. They were still working on making Hanjk talk pretty as they now sat under a roaring waterfall.

"Do ya wont me ta do tha rhyme agin?" the Jackal inquired after a prolonged silence from the Elite.

"I-I-I don't know," Riley answered, taking a dramatic drag on his cigarette.

"Ahm tryin'—"

"—_Yes_……I know, Hanjk."

"You're a mess," Peter said to their cockney friend as he shook his head. Hanjk was about to retaliate, when he received a call over his gear from a top Jackal in the area. He sighed and took out his radio, expecting bad news or to be scolded for leaving his post.

"What are your orders, old boy?" he said into the receiver. Both Riley and Peter perked up at the fluidity and clarity in his voice. "What's that? I con't hear you, you need to speak up, sir, I'm under a waterfall and it's rather noisy, I dare say. Hm? The first battalion was completely wiped out by the humans? I dare say that's a spot of bad luck, that is. Pardon? Link up with you at the first temple? Why, we're headed in that dye-rection right now. I will, sir. Cheerio." With that, Hanjk switched his radio off and looked back to his friends. They were both dumbfounded.

"Wot did I do wrong _now_?" he sighed angrily.

"Hanjk, you beautiful creature! You sounded brilliant!" Riley said, smudging out his cigarette and crawling towards his friend.

"I think you may be pushing it with the 'beautiful' thing," Peter quipped.

"'Ey……I did, din' I!" he agreed, reflecting on his recent conversation. "I talked!"

"Quick! Let's try the rhyme again!" the Sangheili said eagerly.

The Jackal focused his attention. "The gears of war are really a bore when they hav'nt got a whore!" Hanjk said with great excitement.

"You did it!" Riley cheered jubilantly.

"Yeah, you don't sound like you crawled out from the gutter anymore," Peter commented with a chuckle.

"I'll set you straight, I will!" Hanjk threatened in his new voice.

Marines were screaming, treads were grinding, and mortars were crashing as the Chief engaged the enemy from across the bridge. He maneuvered the Scorpion with much celerity, or at least as much celerity as a six ton tank could allow, dodging the balls of energy with ease. Using the deadly combination of the chain gun mounted just under the main turret and its piercing mortars, the Chief had already succeeded in taking out the first of two Wraiths. In a blue explosion, the tank slumped to the ground and sat smoldering. The second advanced, as did the Chief.

"_Move up_!" he ordered over the frequency.

"_You got it_!" the eager Private Bentley responded, the Warthog he was riding in zooming forward ahead to the bridge. The Master Chief had begun to follow them, when he noticed that the LRV veered off course and tumbled over the side of the rail-less bridge.

"……What the f—" luckily, the Chief's sailor's mouth was drowned out by the crashing of another energy mortar quite near his position. The bleed once again made his shields flare and tore off a few pieces of the tank. Cursing both the Forerunner people for trying to be cool and never giving their bridges rails and the leathernecks for being among the worst drivers in the galaxy, he focused all of his anger on the remaining Wraith. After several good hits with the Scorpion mortars, the enemy tank was reduced to a black, smoking pile of twisted alien metal. He gave the pile a few more blasts with his main weapon just because he hated the Covenant so. Deeming the coast clear, he headed for an opening in the mountains to his right. He hadn't been rolling for long when chaos ensued. Ghosts poured from the entrance and Banshees attacked from the rear.

"_Of course_," he sighed to himself irately.

Riley and his friends were idling under the falls when they were approached by an Elite in red armour.

"What are you nitwits doing down here?" he snapped. "Wait……you are not in my platoon."

Riley snapped to a salute as he hastily stood up. "Sorry, sir. I was instructed to patrol the ring. I'm on a secret mission from the Prophets. If I told you, I'd uh, have to kill you," he bragged.

"You are not needed here, soldier. Move out. They could use you in the first temple," he ordered with a casual shooing gesture.

"But Commander 'Vadumee said—"

"—I said you are not needed here! Move out!"

"But, I—"

The crimson-armoured Sangheili barked something in their native tongue and thrust an arm toward a cave on the opposite side of the canyon.

"Yes, sir," Riley submitted, grabbing his friends and following his command.

"Wait! The Kig-Yar stays," he growled devilishly. "I could use more snipers."

Hanjk cast a terrified look upon his blue-armoured buddy.

"Um, sir? Uh……he has to stay with me."

"And why is that?"

"He, he……" he looked around to make sure no one would eavesdrop and gestured for the higher-ranking Sangheili to come closer. After doing so, Riley whispered to him in their language, making frequent gestures and eye contact with his Jackal friend. The red-armoured Elite made several disgusted and shocked faces.

"Never mind……he can go with you," he concluded, walking away.

"'Ey! Wot 'chyoo say ta 'im?" Hanjk inquired.

"I said that you needed to come with me."

"No ya di'int! Ju fink ahm blind?!"

"Loose lips sink ships, Hanjk."

Spartan-117 had spent a massive hunk of his time blasting his way through Delta Halo's various ruins and Covenant defense systems. He was forced to park his thoroughly beaten Scorpion within the confines of the ruins and dismounted. He was enjoying a moment of silence among a sea of Covenant bodies when he heard a sharp whooshing behind him. Turning around, he noticed a weapon cargo unit had been dropped behind him.

"……Uh oh," he said to himself as more and more weapons began raining down upon him. Covering his head and ducking for cover, he hid behind a column in the ruin's colonnade and watched as a careless Pelican unloaded weapons and a fresh supply of troops. As he emerged, the troops snapped to attention. Happy to have some support, but aware of the very real possibility that they might be as stupid as the ones who drove off the bridge, he acknowledged them and took up arms. Just in time, too, as more Covenant began to trickle out of the inner ruins and open fire on the team.

"Take _this_!" a male soldier yelled, whipping a grenade at an Elite. Unfortunately, it ricocheted off of the portable cover that had materialised back in front of him. It had previously been shot down by plasma fire. Landing at his feet, he had time only to yell and trip over his own feet in an attempt to escape before being blown to pieces. A Marine with a rocket launcher was sprayed by chunks of his comrade. He screamed in traumatised terror and ran forward to escape the gore, only to trip on the edge of the cover and fall on his weapon, causing it to send a rocket barreling toward the collective of Covenant, annihilating them and sending the bodies flying. The Chief stood in confusion.

"Was……that a good thing?" a female Marine asked of him.

The super soldier pondered on this really well.

"……Yeah, yeah, that was a good thing," he said, advancing slowly.

"……Is it safe?" another Marine said. The Chief noticed a pair of eyes and a portion of a helmet materialise from behind the side of a pillar.

"Yeah, you're good." He passed the rocket Marine, who was huddled in a corner and rocking back and forth. A quick smack to the face proved to snap him out of it. Using the rocket launchers endless supply of ammo, seeing as the Chief wasn't carrying it, they took out the rest of the Covenant soldiers who tried miserably to advance on them. Master Chief loved loopholes and cheating the system.

They passed through a tiny passageway and, peering around the corner together in succession, the trio of heads observed a group of enemy soldiers gathered around another hologram similar to the one he saw in the control room to the bridge.

"Hey……black Marine," the Chief whispered.

"I have a _name_, you know," he answered.

"Fine, what is it?"

"Brown."

"Wow. Alright then, Brown, aim for those narrow-minded, pious aliens over there," he said, indicating with his heavily armoured index finger. Brown followed it and placed the cross-hair right over the highest-ranking Elite, which had white armour. He let fly and the projectile served to eradicate all of the lesser aliens in the vicinity. To everyone's dismay, the white-armoured warrior merely lurched forward under the impact of the blow, his shield system flaring.

"Birth of a nation, he's still alive!" the lady Marine exclaimed.

"Again! Hurry!" Master Chief ordered.

Brown sent another rocket the alien's way as he turned and drew out his energy sword. The second rocket hit the ground next to him, but dropped his shields completely. Still the Elite charged, roaring a challenge. The female Marine raised her BR55 and unloaded a few rounds into the barreling enemy. He was finally put out his misery, but died a hero's death.

"Hell yeah!" the lady yelled, punching a fist into the air.

"You go, sister," the Spartan said as they high-fived. With the coast clear, the trio moved up. The hologram, having sustained heavy damage from the rocket blast, flickered on a off and the voice of the Prophet was mighty choppy. The Chief listened as best he could. He was preaching something about a "Great Journey" and about how he vowed to find all the witches that were plotting against the Covenant.

"'Great Journey'? More like mass suicide," Cortana commented coolly.

"It's a good thing I hate religion," Spartan-117 commented as he checked his ammo load, smashed the remains of the holo-projector with his boot, and headed for the ramp with the waiting Marines.

"Nice atmosphere," Riley commented as his collective stepped through an ancient-looking automatic door and into the first temple. "I don't think I would've picked this colour of stone, per say, but to each his own. I don't judge," he said, shrugging over his shoulder to Peter. Two honour guards were standing rigid on either side of a projection of the Prophet of Regret. They began snickering to themselves as Riley passed. Acknowledging their insults, Riley became uneasy.

"I think they're laughing at you, Rye," Hanjk whispered.

"Thanks, Hanjk."

"I'm sure they're laughing _with_ you," Peter tried to be optimistic.

"The Sangheili don't laugh with _anybody_, Pete," the blue-armoured warrior said as another automatic door opened.

"That was quite an interesting trial today, 'Bodensee," they heard a voice say behind them. Turning around, an honour guard with two plasma rifles approached them with a spiteful grin on his face.

"I didn't do anything wrong. I'm innocent, I'm no witch," he defended.

"That is not what the council thinks. Why do you think the Prophets sent you on that mission?"

"How did you know about that? That was top secret information."

"When you keep an ear to the door, a great many thing can be learned," the guard answered with a chuckle.

"Is something wrong here?" another voice answered. Riley knew this voice. His good friend Clark addressed the other guard sternly.

"No, Captain 'Voorlakee, sir."

"You don't have anything better to do than to degrade your fellow soldiers?" he inquired professionally.

"Sir, I was just—"

"—Return to your post," Clark commanded, unwavering as he gripped his pike tightly.

"……Yes, sir," the antagonist guard said, lowering his head as he went back through the door.

"Clark! It's good to see you! I didn't know you were……" Riley's enthusiasm trailed off as he better studied the look on Clark's face. He noticed that the guard wouldn't look him directly in the eye and he knew the reason why.

"So, you're stationed out he—"

"—Riley……I must talk to you," Clark heaved a long sigh. "Preferably without the company of others," he said, chiefly to Peter and Hanjk. The Jackal placed his hands on his hips angrily.

"Well, whatever you need to say to me, you can say in front of them. I don't care."

"……About this morning……why did you do it?"

"Clark, you don't believe that I'm a witch, do you?"

"Then, what of that concert you went to last night? You were really excited to go."

"Well yeah, to support my friend and to learn more about Earth subcultures. You know how much it interests me."

"But to conspire against the Prophets?" Clark inquired emotionally.

"I didn't do that! That was all Sesa whatever-he's-calling-himself's idea! I had also been drinking heavily that night, wasn't I, Hanjk?" he consulted his friend.

"I dare say I downed a few too many as well, m'boy."

"See?"

Clark looked unsure as he leaned against his pike.

"Clark, you've been my best friend for how long now? You know I would _never_ do anything like this. Even if I did, I'd tell you about it first. I tell you everything," the geeky Sangheili put a reassuring hand on his friend's armoured back. "I don't keep secrets from my family or my friends."

"No……you don't. I'm sorry for all these accusations. It's just—"

"—Think nothing of it. You have a right to be concerned. I suppose I should be grateful that you're looking out for me. Owtsretärb?" Riley asked in their dialect as he held out his hands, crossed, to his friend.

"Owtsretärb," Clark agreed, taking a hold of his friend's hands in the same manner and gripped them tight. They then performed an elaborate secret handshake which greatly amused Peter. Grunts are cheap dates.

"But really, we're solid?" Riley checked one final time.

"Yes. I'm not worried anymore."

"Friendship!" Peter yelled.

"Come, I'm on my way to the main temple to guard the Prophet. Why don't you join me?" Clark suggested.

"Sounds good to me. File out, brethren!" the blue-armoured soldier said to his underclass friends.

"Whoa……lookit the size of that joint," Private Little breathed in awe as he, the Chief, Private Tanner, and Corporal Brown stared at the immense building at the bottom of a sloping ramp.

"This looks important," the Chief commented, hoisting up his beam rifle. He scanned the exterior of the place, picking off a few Jackals and some sleeping Grunts.

"Ah! Get it off! Get it off!" Tanner shrieked as she was promptly lifted off the ground by one of a swarm of Drones that had sneaked up on them. Master Chief, Brown, and Little did their best to shoot down the enormous bugs while trying not to injure their teammate. It proved to be a little less than successful.

"Fuck! Did you just hit me?!" she yelled, as a bullet from Little's battle rifle grazed her arm.

"Sorry, Tan!" he called out. Her Drone, the only one left, was making the task of getting her down almost impossible as it darted around in the air, dodging the projectiles.

"Shitty cat! _Again_?!" she announced as another barrage of bullets pelted the armour on her leg.

The Chief laughed, half because they were doing so poorly and half because he thought what she said was rather funny.

"This isn't funny! ……Sir." They finally managed to shoot down the annoying insect. The good lady tumbled to the ground in a heap.

"Sorry. I thought the 'shitty cat' thing was kind of funny," he commented with a hearty chuckle as he reloaded his weapon.

"Did I hit you?" Little questioned, concerned.

"Gee!" Tanner spat, clutching at a red stain that soaked through her uniform. Brown shook his head.

"Watch this," the Chief said, settling down beside her and pulling out his med kit. He expertly took out some biofoam, gauze, and dressing and set to work. Little began to sing the chorus to the song "A Fair Lullaby (I Left My Darling Lyin' Here)" by "PeopleMoover and the 4 Realzeez".

"No singing," the Chief reminded.

"Where's the nurse tiara?"

"No."

"Damn," Little sighed, extremely disappointed.

"At least he didn't sing '1,973 Bullet Wounds' by MütilatoriüM," Tanner said.

"That would have been perfect," the Spartan said, finishing up. "Better?"

"Yeah, thanks," she said, moving her arm.

"This place looks pretty heavily guarded, we'll have to be careful," the super soldier advised as he slowly descended the ramp, trudging over dead Drones as he went.

"There are honour guards everywhere……watch your back!" Cortana recommended upon entrance.

"Will do," Chief replied. The AI was correct as he peered around a corner and noticed two standing at attention in the middle of the room. Again, the Covenant seemed hell-bent on guarding the precious holos of their megalomaniac leader. Priming a plasma grenade, he momentarily stepped out from behind the wall and whipped it at the alien to the left. It fused to his crested helmet as he began caterwauling and tearing at his head-gear.

"I will get it!" he comrade said, spinning his sword around and hitting him in the back of the head with the handle. His friend clattered to the floor and exploded.

"Sang, I am _so_ going to get demoted for that," he said, running a hand down his face in embarrassment.

"I'll save you the trouble," Chief said, whipping another grenade. It stuck to the Elite's chest plate.

"This is not what I had in mind!" he hollered just before it blew him to next Tuesday.

Private Little held up an "easy button" from Staples and pressed it. "_That_ was easy!" it declared.

"Wait, go back!" Cortana said just as the Chief was about to move on.

"_What_? I don't want to watch this," he complained.

"Shut up. That's what I thought he said. The Prophet of Regret is going to activate Halo."

"……Are you sure?" the Chief sounded disbelieving.

Cortana snapped her digital fingers and the holo played once more.

"I'm gonna light the ring, y'all!" the Prophet said.

Cortana snapped again. "That was weird."

"Commander, we have a problem. The Prophet's weird," he said, radioing Keyes.

"So I hear," she answered. "But, everyone knows you can't be weird without an Index," she said as an image of the device popped up on one of the panels. Lieutenant Dalloway showed it off sensually, like Carol Merril. "……_That's_ not phallic," Miranda commented further, with subtle anger.

"I bet the Covenant are thinkin' the same thing," Johnson said as he head appeared on a screen.

"Johnson, after you've found the rest of your body, get your men out of the coloured bathroom and meet me at the Library. That's where this stupid penis-shaped thing is supposed to be."

"I hope I don't have any fines to pay," Lieutenant Oleander said.

Master Chief exited Cortana out of the holo and prepared to find the Prophet. Two more Marines entered behind them as another swarm of Drones crawled through the gaps in the stone. Luckily, one devildog had a shotgun and made short work of them. Climbing the ramp to the door on the second level, the Chief almost ran into a startled Elite with red armour. Using the energy sword he picked up, he jabbed it into the alien's belly, the energy sizzling as it met flesh. Grunting in pain, the Elite was killed swiftly and tossed aside. He heard Little hit the easy button again. The Chief cautiously stepped out into the open and made a quick recon of the area. Many different buildings and ruins surrounded the peristyle they were stationed in and many particle beams zipped straight for his helmet. Ducking back into the room, he switched the energy sword for a beam rifle that was lying on the ground and sought revenge against the enemy snipers.

Clark, Riley, and his friends stepped off their third gondola and stood in front of the main temple. The Ranger Elite that had operated it for them held out his palm, expecting to be tipped. Riley noticed and slapped him a low-four.

"Keep the change," he laughed, following Clark. The Ranger wasn't amused.

"The Prophet of Regret is giving his sermon. It would be impolite to enter while he's still speaking," he advised.

"Makes sense," Riley agreed, adjusting his glasses. "So, you really put that one guy in his place. I didn't know you were so high-ranked!"

"My father was a captain and I assumed his position even though I'm much younger." Riley noticed he refrained from saying "less experienced".

"That's cool. I've been the same rank for all of my six ages in the service," he bragged.

"It's standard Sangheili ideals to want to move up through the ranks," Clark advised.

"Yeah, but, I'm not your standard sang, am I?"

"Indeed you're not. I suppose that's why you're my best friend."

"Aw, thanks!" Riley replied bashfully. He then sat down on the cantilevered ledge that protruded from underneath the temple, allowing his legs to dangle above the lake below. Clark chose a spot next to him.

"So……you ever wonder how Pac-Man got stuck in that maze? And why are those ghosts chasing him? He must be one bad dude," Riley asked meditatively, staring at a Covenant cruiser that was hovering quite a few kilometers away.

Clark looked to his friend."……What?"

Spartan-117 and his band of Marines had fought their way through lightning-speed energy particles, Grunt ambushes, cackling Jackals, arrogant Elites, and ethnically stereotypical Hunters and found themselves without enemies in front of a large metal gondola. Without even having to press any panels, it was speeding toward them, swinging precariously from a thick cable that connected to another temple about a half a mile away.

"You guys wanna play 'I Spy' or something while we wait?" a new WASP Marine inquired.

"No 'I Spying'," Chief responded.

Before the gondola had even reached them, the Covenant soldiers who were hiding inside opened fire. Picking them off was a relatively easy task. They were ready to board in no time. Little hit his easy button as they stepped onto the platform, the gondola making unhealthy creaking noises.

"Are you sure this is safe, Chief?" the wounded Tanner questioned.

The super soldier observed their surroundings, took note of the noises, and saw how rusted and used the thing was.

"Sure, yeah, we'll be fine," he concluded. He found a control panel in the front and activated the gondola. With a mighty lurch, accompanied by the sound of violently scraping metal, it returned from whence it came.

"Shit, I get motion sickness," the WASP soldier said, falling to his knees and hanging over the side of the gondola.

"No, not allowed," Master Chief said, as if addressing a careless question.

"Gosh, Chief. You have so many rules," Little complained.

"I run a tight organisation."

Going against his orders, the Marine vomited loudly into the lake. He made it more intense than it needed to be, much to the dismay of his comrades in arms.

"You know, I should charge you with insubordination," Chief said.

"How can you poss—" Tanner was about to speak, but was immediately cut-off by the WASP's vomiting. "How can—" he made more noise. "How—" once again. She waited almost a minute before trying again. "……How can you be this sick? We ate almost nothing today, Stewart."

"I grew up in a poor family. I learned how to make stuff last," Private Stewart answered, out of breath.

The Chief, who was ignoring everyone, abruptly took notice of a stationary gondola on their right. "We've got Covenant coming up here," he advised.

"Good. If they try to board us, Stewart can just throw up on them," Little said.

"I think I'd rather be splashed with plasma fire," Tanner agreed.

A couple of Elites in the company of a few Drones attacked once the Chief's gondola was in range. Between the dual-wielded plasma rifles the aliens carried and the several aerial assaults from the massive bugs, the Chief was plagued with dropped shields several times. Little, the Spartan noticed, had a shotgun. He snatched it out of his hands, pumped some shells from one of the Marine's ammo pouches, and began knocking the flying menaces out of the sky. Switching over to his beam rifle, he managed to slaughter the Elites that were left.

"Jackpot," he said to himself as he pumped more shells into the rifle.

"Um, sir? Can I have that back?" Little asked. He had since held onto the Chief's plasma rifle.

"……No, I think I'll keep this," he answered. He decided to call this one "Clyde, Interrupted". The gondola lurched forward once more and they sped towards the next temple. Master Chief used the scope on the beam rifle to catch a glimpse of the upcoming building. Two plasma turrets were stationed on the second level and snipers stood vigilantly beside them, ready to dispose of anything that came their way. The Spartan waited until they got just a little closer and made his move. He executed both Jackal snipers with precision head-shots. The deaths of their sentries must have alarmed the others, for Grunts began to materialise out of an archway on the second level. In an attempt to take them out before the gondola met up with the temple, the Chief fired furiously, overheating the rifle and burning his hand. Shaking it off, he regrouped and continued to aim for the Grunts. Luckily, he managed to take them out in time, but as the gondola docked, a group of Jackals, their plasma pistols shimmering, bounded out of the archway onto the small dock. A few rounds from the new "Clyde, Interrupted" proved to silence them. The Marines followed the Chief into the building.

"Thank god _that's_ over with," Private Stewart said with a relived sigh.

"You're tellin' _me_. You really milk it when you get sick," Tanner sneered.

Venturing further into the building, they found that the interior was patrolled by a pack of Jackals, who immediately took alarm to the super soldier and his crew of humans. Things didn't get any easier when another sect of Drones swooped down upon them.

"Damn! I hate these bug things!" Little shouted, his voice almost enveloped by the constant chatter of his SMG.

"Shitty cat! That one's got a needler!" Tanner yelled as a flurry of pink shards whizzed through the air around the module behind which she had taken cover. From his spot behind a wall, the Chief couldn't help but chuckle again. He pointed his rifle out from behind his cover, but was spotted by a Drone crawling on the ceiling and was awarded with a shower of green plasma for his endeavors. He heard the alarm go off on his armour and slid behind the wall again, watching an almost endless stream of plasma bolts strike the wall a few feet from his position. When the stream finally came to an end he dashed from his cover, took aim, and unleashed a barrage upon the insectoid. Meeting up with several buck shots, it made a shrill noise and plunged to the ground, dead. The Marines had taken care of the other Covenant in the vicinity and they had the all-clear.

"Where do we go from here, Chief?" Tanner asked, wiping a vicious spatter of light yellow Drone blood from her cheek. Little held up his hands and looked as though he was about to break into song again.

"_No_ singing," the Chief stopped him for the second time. "Sit tight, for now," he ordered, jumping up to a more intricate set of ramps above their heads and ascending to the ceiling. His adventure lasted only a minute or so and he came back carrying a fuel-rod cannon.

"You take this," he said to Tanner, handing her the bulky weapon. She accepted it gratefully.

"Full car, coming up!" Stewart announced, pointing down a small shaft up a small ramp in the center of the room.

"Stand clear," the Spartan ordered, tramping up to the opening and producing a frag grenade. As the whirring of machinery was heard, the Private proved to be right as a great glass elevator filled with Jackals screeched to a halt. Just as the doors opened, the Chief pinned the grenade, tossed it in the elevator, and jumped clear. It went off, killing all of the Jackals and spraying the walls with purple blood.

"Wow, that didn't shatter it?" Tanner inquired, uncovering her ears and raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"Yeah……I didn't really think about that," the super soldier said, picking up a plasma grenade from a Jackal corpse as he inspected the inside of the elevator.

"What's with the Wonkavator?" Little inquired, tilting his head and thoroughly studying it.

"You found the golden ticket, Charlie," Tanner said, donning a pair of brass knuckles she happened to be carrying with her as she waved her fist in front of his face. In the future, women don't carry mace……they carry brass knuckles.

Smearing away the gore, he found a control panel and studied the array of buttons. They said things like "Fudge Room", "Marshmallow Room", "Cookie Press", and "Perfume?". He noticed one that also said "Main Temple" and figured that would get them where they needed to go……maybe.

"Looks like a submerged center underneath……looks like we're goin' down," Cortana commented from the far regions of the Chief's head.

"……That's what he said," he replied snidely. Cortana was silent. "Lovell, Lovell, it was for Lovell," he advised.

"Sir?" Stewart spoke up.

"I guess we're taking the……Wonkavator," Master Chief repeated the word with much distaste. Spartans were specially trained to hate everything associated with Roald Dahl. The Marines piled in after the Chief.

"Whoa Nelly, there's no way _he's _getting in here with us," Little said.

"Yeah, seriously. There is no way _I'm_ getting in there with you," Stewart agreed.

"Good point……see you later," the Chief said with a wave as he reached for the button that said "Main Temple".

"So, you're just going to leave me here?"

"……Someone will find you. You're a Marine," the Chief said as the doors closed noiselessly and the great glass elevator lowered into the ground. Private Stewart's lower lip quivered.

There were a couple minutes of near complete darkness as the elevator descended into a long, dark shaft. Occasionally, the shaft walls would turn a strange colour or show pictures of various animals getting mutilated.

"What is this, a freakout?" Tanner inquired.

Little was about to sing once more, but the Chief was determined to put an end to this at once.

"Three strikes and you're out, kid," he threatened coolly. Finally, with a splash of water, the elevator was drifting roughly through the lake. Various types of fishes darted away from the glass encasing as the elevator swam through the crystal blue waters. It even played droning yet snazzy music.

"I've intercepted a secured transmission from Regret's carrier," Cortana informed.

"I guess it wasn't very secure at all," the Chief said. Little began doing a dance reminiscent of the politically incorrect "Walk like an Egyptian" dance to the elevator music. Tanner hit him in the back of the head. Death to those who think Egyptians really walk and or dance like that.

"No……anyway, it seems to be a formal apology to the Prophets of Truth and Mercy. Apparently, Regret jumped the gun when he invaded Earth, he's asking the other Prophet's to 'forgive his bad, dudes' arguing that 'the tea leaves told him that no human presence was fortold'. Which explains why there were so few ships in his fleet. It's odd a _Prophet _would have such bad intel about his enemy's homeworld."

"They probably molest children on the side, along with lie to the masses," Chief commented dryly. "Tea lies, by the way. That's why I don't drink it. I only drink honest beverages."

"You Spartans sure have a beef with religion."

"……Yes."

"—You see, Pac-Man eats those power pellets, you know, in that maze. So, it's to my belief that he got in there voluntarily because he was hungry. But those ghosts aren't happy because those power pellets must belong to them, which makes sense because Pac-Man would be stealing from them technically which would give good reason as to why they're chasing him," Clark explained.

"……So you're saying it's _Pac-Man's fault_?" Riley inquired, seemingly offended by his friend's answer.

"Well, yes. Those pellets don't belong to him. I don't walk into your keep and start eating yo—"

"—No, Clark, you're missing the point—"

"—I'm not missing any point, I—"

"—Those ghosts are locked in some kind of box thing! Those power pellets _do not_ belong to them, this much I know. And even if they did, who are they to have so many when Pac-Man has nothing?"

Clark gave his friend a startled look.

"……What?"

"Riley……you're not a Communist, are you?" he inquired. "That sounded like a Communist comment. Like a Commument."

"Would it matter if I was?"

Clark thought about this for a moment. The Covenant, much like humans, weren't really keen on communal, harmonious living.

"No, I suppose not. But _are_ you?"

"I've read some things……I've read some things," Riley answered, occasionally glancing at Clark out of the corners of his eyes.

The UNSC team's ride in the "Wonkavator" was short-lived as the elevator rose quickly through another shaft, this time without traumatising special effects, and deposited them in a small chamber presumably under the surface of the lake. The doors slid open and the team exited. Master Chief, rifle at the ready, moved cautiously through and up a ramp, the Marines in tow. They met with several other ramps as they hiked forward, wary of any and all sounds. The team came upon an underwater tunnel; they were obviously still submerged. At the other side of the long room, Grunts were either sleeping or idling about with their Elite commander. The Chief took to one knee and set the beam rifle's crosshair on the helmet of the Elite. Firing two beams, he punctured the helmet and slew the tall alien. The Grunts in the area took alarm, screeching and tearing about the room in panic. A few were brave enough to scamper towards a sloping ramp that led to where the green-armoured "Daemon" was kneeling, but between the hail of bullets, the precisely placed particles of energy, and the exploding fuel-rods, none of them ever stood a chance. The room was cleared in a matter of seconds.

Little took out his easy button and gave it a tap, the mechanical voice reverberating throughout the chamber. He cringed and replaced the device as the Spartan's mirrored visor turned to him.

"……Okay, I'll let you have that one," he said with a nod as he slowly moved down the ramp, shouldering the beam rifle and arming "Clyde, Interrupted". Thoroughly searching the chamber, they found that they were the only ones still breathing. The Master Chief led them to another set of criss-crossing ramps. As they continued upward, the sound of muffled voices became louder.

"Hey, are you guys hearing voices too?" Little inquired.

"I hear voices often, you need to specify," Tanner shared.

"Uhhhhhh," Little said, averting his eyes from her.

"Yeah, we're close to something, stay alert," the Spartan commanded, slipping a few rounds into his shotgun. At the top, an automatic door covered in strange engraved symbols slid open with a creek. It led to a vast and dimly lit room with cathedral-peaked glass ceilings. A loud voice boomed throughout the entire room. It spoke of falsities and propaganda, but so decorated with lovely, outrageous promises that those who listened couldn't bear to denounce them. Peering ever so cautiously through the scope on his beam rifle, the Chief observed a mass of Covenant troops gathered in the center of the room around a gargantuan hologram of a Prophet. They all had whips or fails and took turns lashing themselves fiercely.

"What the hell is this?" Master Chief asked quietly of Cortana.

"Appears to be some sort of Covenant mass. You should get a kick out of this."

After the Prophet's holo finished another sentence, an Elite honour guard threw out his arms and hollered "I chastise my body!" while flogging himself.

"What are we gonna do about this, sir? Do you have a plan?" Tanner questioned.

"I do have a plan. Trouble is, it won't work," Chief answered. He explained to them what he had in store for the devout aliens. He was to sneak up to the rear of the massive projection, wire it so it would show Private Little's form instead, and try to convince their enemies he was a Forerunner finally making his second coming. It was a longshot, the Covenant were very pious, and a little stupid, but the Master Chief wanted a chance to psychologically mess with his enemies.

Climbing over beams and sneaking through shadows, the super soldier managed to make it to the back of the projector unseen with the Private. Tanner, armed with a discarded beam rifle and the fuel-rod cannon, set up shop on the opposite side of the room to provide backup in case things got out of hand, and the Chief wholly expected things to go awry. Lying on his belly, he pried open the back of the module and set to work on the wiring inside.

"Are you ready, Little?" he asked, just about ready to reattach the wires.

"Yeah, but wait! What's my motivation?"

"……God."

Little shrugged. "I'll do the best I can."

"You sound unsure. You're not Christian?"

"Nope. I was raised LaVeyan Satanist."

The Chief stared at him in disbelief. Little shrugged.

"Alright then."

With that, the Chief held his breath and connected the wires. The image of the Prophet flickered off, causing several stunned cries to arise from the crowd.

"It is the apocalypse!" someone yelled through the incoherent screams of terror.

"It's all you, Private," the Chief whispered harshly to the soldier standing behind him. Little's image appeared in place of the Prophet's.

"Ooga booga boogaaaaaa!" he yelled, making a variety of unappealing faces. The Covenant weren't happy with this.

"Is that a human?!" a distinctly Elite voice demanded.

"I am the last known Forerunner! I am coming……look busy!" the Marine said aloud, holding out his arms. The alien soldiers immediately prostrated themselves on the floor in front of the holo. They were actually buying it.

"O, mighty one! You have returned to us! What are your orders, most exalted?!" a different honour guard inquired.

"For many centuries, I have searched the galaxies for……for followers who would be worthy of my godliness! Take comfort in the fact that I have chosen you, the Covenant!" Little played the role of a divine figure adequately. It wasn't really what the Chief had in mind, but it did the job.

"What shall we do, arrr?" a Jackal Major with an eyepatch asked. Higher-class Jackals talk like pirates, seeing as Jackals were either poor, cockney slobs or wealthy pirates.

"Tell them to close their eyes," Spartan-117 whispered to the Marine.

"What?" Little looked down at the Chief, breaking character. Master Chief growled irately.

"Tell them to close their eyes!" he demanded a little louder.

"Why?"

"So Tanner can take them out from the rear," he explained through gritted teeth.

"Oh, oh! Yes, close your eyes! I want you to close them!"

"We obey, holy one!"

"Are they closed?"

"Yes, great teacher!"

"Excellent, excellent. Once you have closed your eyes, you will feel a pain on the back of your head. But do not fear, for it is only the sting of my grace! It's a part of your initiation!"

Blinded by religion, the aliens toppled over one by one as Private Tanner worked through the pack until none were left kneeling. Once the coast seemed clear, Little said "Go in peace, the mass has ended," and hit his easy button.

"If you hit that thing one more time, I'm going to throw it," the Spartan threatened, regaining his footing and bringing forth his shotgun. "Good work, Tanner! We're moving out!" he called out to the other soldier, who waved in response.

"Roger, Chief! Nice plan!"

They met up in the center of the room. Having replaced the wiring in the projector, the Prophet's image appeared once more. The craned their necks back, staring at the enormous holo.

"Wonder how they got this whole Covenant thing started, anyway," Little commented.

"There must be some great genius behind it," Tanner added.

"……And a great evil. This is an engine for destruction," the Spartan said, pointing to the raving Prophet.

"—And that's why I think John Carpenter killed Bob Crane," Riley concluded yet another long-winded theory about human culture. Clark, having no absolute idea what he was talking about, simply nodded in agreed. After the Pac-Man argument, he didn't feel like dealing with another scenario.

"That's interesting, Riley."

"You can totally tell 'cuz, like I said, all of his movies are about serial killers or people dying or something and he's representing himself as the killer each time. It's so obvious. If I ever get to planet Earth, I'll settle the score once and for all," he said, placing his hands behind his head and leaning back against the temple.

Meanwhile, Peter and Hanjk were forced to converse with each other as they let the Elites have their "alone time".

"So……how do you like your new voice?" the Grunt inquired of the Jackal.

"It makes me sound more dignified. I'm afraid the same cannot be said of your Unggoy buddies. At least _I_ can use proper grammer," Hanjk boasted.

"At least I don't have those stupid feathers on my head," Peter remarked snidely.

"They are not feathas, they are spines, you bloody twit!" the Jackal snapped, removing his newsies cap and flexing the bright pink spines that ran down his skull akin to a mohawk. "At least _I _don't have to carry gas for breathing on my back like _someone _I could mention, Scuba Steve!"

"Stupid Jackal!"

"Gas sucker!"

"Dirty pirate!"

"Stump—"

"—Hey!" Riley interrupted, having heard their quarrel and arriving to settle it. "What did I tell you two about fighting?"

"He started it," Peter grunted, folding his arms over his chest.

"I don't care who started it! I'm going to finish it," the Sangheili threatened. "Now, I've noticed this not only with you both but with _all _of the Kig-Yar and the Unggoy. Why are you guys always fighting? I mean, you're on the same side, for Pete's sake! Why is it so hard for you two to get along?"

"You try havin' ta deal with takin' ordas from a dir-ee gas sucka!" Hanjk said, reverting back to his old cockney accent.

"Hey! What did I tell you about that?! Don't say 'gas sucker' say 'lollipop sucker', it's nicer."

"What's the problem, Riley?" Clark inquired, approaching from the rear.

"I'm trying to settle years of internal conflict between races."

"Oh, well……good luck," the honour guard said with a shrug. Riley was just about to hand them another lecture, when he heard a voice on his communications gear.

"Oh, 'scuse me for one second, I gotta take this," he said, turning away from the group. "Yello?"

"_Officer 'Bodensee, are you still alive_?" the voice of Commander 'Vadumee questioned.

"Sure am! I've got a lotta livin' to do!" he sang like Conrad from "Bye Bye, Birdie".

"……_With our luck, you do. You are needed back on the_ Pious Mumpdunkel _to aid the Arbiter on his next assignment. We've sent a Phantom to pick you up. What is your current location_?"

"I'm at the temple where the Prophet of Regret is."

"_The ship will be there in a matter of moments_," with that, the radio switched off.

"I didn't know the ship was called the _Pious Mumpdunkel_," Riley commented to himself. Indeed, moments later, the obnoxious whirring of a Phantom could be heard and the shining, purple craft hovered directly over the entrance to the temple.

"Efficient. Well, looks like my ride's here, Clarkbar. I'm glad we got to hang out. I forgot what a shrewd arguer you are. Until next time, my friend," he said, giving his buddy a hug before heading towards the ship. As the grav lift beamed on, he turned around and gave the honour guard a sour look over his glasses. "But seriously……it's not Pac-Man's fault." With that, he stepped into the light and was pulled into the ship. It took off seconds later, making a bee-line for the massive ship docked in the distance. As he watched his friend go, another honour guard approached him.

"Captain 'Voorlakee, the Prophet is almost finished with his sermon. You are needed," he said solemnly.

"Thank you," Clark answered, following him into the temple.

Having travelled through the rest of the underwater temples, ridden several uncouth gondolas, picked up another squad of Marines, and blasted through blockades of Covenant soldiers, the Master Chief was growing rather exhausted, the members of his team complaining profusely as they stopped before what appeared to be the final gondola. This one, however, looked a little……different.

"What is _that_?" Tanner demanded. She gestured in disbelief to a long, authentic Venetian gondola. An Elite wearing the distinct armour of a Ranger waved at them. He was wearing a striped shirt underneath his chest plate, an ascot, and a straw hat.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," the Master Chief said, tightening the grip on his rifle.

"NICE. I'm totally wanting to sing that pizza pie song now!" Little remarked.

The Chief was about to reprimand him for the umpteenth time, but the Private beat him to it.

"I know, I know, no singing."

Satisfied that the Marine wasn't going to get himself into any more trouble, the Chief replaced his weapons with a UNSC issue sniper rifle and a rocket launcher. He gathered up a battle rifle, "Clyde, Interrupted", and some extra ammo just in case and hid them on the gondola. The original team was joined up by a Corporal and a Sergeant, one who sounded uncomfortably close to Sergeant Stacker. It freaked the Chief out to a certain degree, always expecting to see Stacker when he spoke……it was like the Twilight Zone. Then again, his whole life had been somewhat like the Twilight Zone. Together, they boarded what they hoped would be the last ride. The gondola operator Elite pushed the craft off from the dock and guided them towards the main temple.

"Why are you ferrying us? Aren't you in the Covenant?" Little asked the operator.

"I am not worried," he answered cheekily with a chuckle. This put the Chief on edge. There was definitely something sinister waiting for them at the temple.

"_Ding dong, ding dong yo_," Miranda Keyes said over the team comm. "_What's the word, Laurel and Fatty_?"

"_So far so good_. _We're heading towards the temple now_," Cortana answered.

"I think she just called you fat," the Master Chief joked with the AI. She ignored him. When you live in someone's head for a few months, you develop selective hearing.

"_And_……_good for you. We still haven't reached the Library yet, but it's all good because I know exactly where we're going_," the Commander assured. She was wrapped up in an intense game of "Guess Who?" with Oleander. "Hm……" she looked thoughtful as she eyed the back of Vincent's tray. "……Is your person a greasy Communist?"

"Nope," he answered with a smile. Miranda frowned and flipped down three heads.

"Is your person apart of the Aryan Brotherhood?" Vincent inquired.

"No way," she answered haughtily. Vincent pouted and flipped down all of the blonde people.

"Uh, Commander? Sergeant Johnson's trying to contact us," Henry said.

"Did you hear something, Lieutenant Oleander?"

"……I mean, Johnson's callin' _Amber Clad_, up in here, up in here," he said to the tune of DMX's song.

"That's more like it. Answer it, I'm busy. Does your person have DSLs?"

"What's that mean?" Vincent asked.

"Dick suckin' lips," she answered solemnly, keeping her eyes glued to her board.

"……Oh god, yes."

"Do you have Charles?"

"Dammit!"

"Aha! _Two_ wins for me! Another loss and you're lookin' down the barrel of a gun. You remember our deal?"

Vincent shuddered, praying that he make a stellar comeback. He turned his tray over so all of the heads flipped back in place.

The gondola halted at the dock and the Chief stepped out onto the platform of the final temple. The Elite was pissing him off so he pushed him into the lake, drowned him with his own oar, and took over the craft. He and his team were making their way to the front, when a series of noises caused them all to look up. Out of nowhere, a whole flock of Covenant battleships materialised out of thin air. The sight was absolutely breath-taking and positively frightful.

"That's the largest Covenant fleet I've ever seen…… the largest _anyone's_ ever seen. Get inside. Kill Regret before it has a chance to stop us," she advised sternly. It sounded like a good idea, so the Chief pulled the rocket launcher over his shoulder and trekked up the wide ramp.

As soon as he did so, two Grunts waddled out of the structure and tried their best to set up portable turrets before any more action could take place. A well-placed rocket served as enough to destroy them both before shop could be opened. A pair of Jackals and an overzealous minor Elite also tried to impede the Chief's progress, but his launcher made short work of the guard. The other leathernecks moved up eagerly, ready to take out one of the leaders of the Covenant. They entered the temple with extreme care; it was bound to be the most heavily guarded area on the whole surface of the ring. No sooner had they entered, two honour guards and an Elite major stormed through the door to the interior, swords and plasma rifles at the ready. It took the last of the Chief's rockets and a scattering of UNSC arms to successfully take down all three foes. They had lost two soldiers to sword-play at the hands of the Elites. Reading an all-clear on his radar, the Chief, picking up a dropped sword, flicked it on and charged through the door. On the other side, Grunts ran screaming at his presence and the masses of honour guards turned his way.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa……_not cool_, brah!" Regret announced, hovering at the back of the room. Ignoring the feeble-looking alien, the Chief chose the left corridor and headed straight down to the first floor.

"Do you have any idea how unamazing this is?!" the Prophet continued. "I was in the middle of something!"

Parrying a guard's strike with his own sword, he slashed through the first warrior. After cutting another down, he climbed on top of the Prophet's anti-gravity throne and stared him down.

"……Fuck religion," he said and began beating him senseless with one of his MJOLNIR gauntlets.

"Ah! Ow! Ack! Get it off! Get it off! Ack!" Regret pleaded with his honour guards as they followed the uncontrolled throne around the room. Several foolish-looking attempts to pry "the Daemon" off of their leader were tried and ultimately failed as the panicking Sangheili dashed about the room. The Marines, who were watching from a safe distance, laughed mockingly and heartily at the scene unfolding. Little began singing "Yakety Sax" by Boots Randolph. It fit the mood nicely and the cyborg was too preoccupied to reprimand him. Having assaulted the Prophet for more than three minutes continuously, the Chief tried to make contact with him.

"Had enough?" he inquired. Regret made an inarticulate noise and attempted to raise a hand. He was rewarded with another onslaught of belts in the face. Eventually, having pummeled him to a pulp, the Prophet keeled over, sending the throne crashing to the ground. It skidded for quite a few feet before coming to a stop, sending a small streak of sparks into the air. The Master Chief jumped off of the throne and armed his sword, the energy crackling as it flashed into place.

"Oh sang, oh sang, we are in deep, sang!" one particular honour guard panicked as he seised the guy next to him and shook him. All they could do was watch in horror as "the Daemon" vanquished their holy Prophet.

"The fleet is turning around, they're preparing to fire on our position!" Cortana announced.

"Well, I've had my fun for the day, let's get out of here," he agreed, breaking in a run towards the automatic door they entered through. Passing the Marines, he sped out of the temple, jumping over a short wall and onto a level underneath. The Covenant fleet Cortana mentioned circled in, the first beam of its laser cannon striking the temple, preparing to neutralise it of all living creatures. The laser swept towards the Spartan as he headed for the edge of the structure. Realising he had nowhere else to go, he leapt over the edge and landed with a gratuitous splash into the lake below. The impact from the water and the force of the laser weapons had knocked him unconscious. Things seemed bleak as he slowly sank into the clear water, his armour weighing him down and causing the rapid sinking rate. Before he got too deep, a long seaweed-like tentacle emerged from the murky depths and fastened itself around the Spartan soldier.

"This is not your grave, but you are welcome in it, welcome my comrade," said a deep and menacing voice.

* * *

"So……bet that was a nice change of pace for ya. I bet you were always on the receiving end," Stanley said.

Anderson smiled. "……Yeah, it was."

"Five hours? Damn, I didn't think we were goin' at it that long."

"It felt like five _minutes_. Do you have a cigarette?"

"Yep," Stanley said, reaching over to his utility belt on the floor next to him and pulling one out.

"Thanks."

"No, thank _you_. You actually knew what you were doing. I can't begin to tell you how many times I've gotten the guy who doesn't know what he's doing."

"Oh, I've given before."

"Really?"

"You don't believe I got _that_ good from watching Ivan, do you?"

"Definitely not. Who was it?" Stanley inquired, enticed.

"I'm kinda ashamed to admit it, but—" the Captain was about to elaborate, when they heard the sound of many boots and several deep voices.

"—What's that?" Stanley asked. "Can't be the others, there's too many." Both combat forms hurriedly put on their uniforms and armour. Stanley had nearly finished when the flesh serving as the door to the room pulled apart. Eight burly combat forms in olive uniforms stormed in. They were both seised violently. Two Floods even tackled Anderson and held him on the floor. Stanley saw the other soldiers being shoved past their room.

"Help, help, I'm being stolen!" Big Pat hollered.

"Hey, um, Stan? I don't know what we did, but we're in _big_ trouble!" Private Cooper said.

"It was because ya didn't pick up yer bleedin' gum wrapper when ya missed the trash can! You've doomed us all!" Private Dunkirk said.

"Stanley! What are you doing in Anderson's room?!" he then heard Pat yell.

"If the KGB doesn't kill me, _Pat _will," Stanley said loudly in Anderson's direction.

"Shut up! I don' want to heer anymore talk from you!" the leader of the squad barked. "You know why we are heer?"

"Actually, I haven't the slightest. Enlighten me."

"We don' like fescism or dirty, vile Delugians on our ring."

"So? We're not fascists or Delugians!"

"I beg to deefer," the leader said, producing Anderson's pin from a breast pocket. "This belonk to you? I fiynt it outside on grount. You are in room……you are new on ring……this pin belonk to you."

"But we're not Delugians!"

"Tell that to Comrade Gravemind. You'll be meetink him shortly." The leader flicked the pin like a quarter, caught it in his massive hand, and pointed to the doorway. Anderson and Stanley were roughly hauled out after the other combat forms.

Stanley and his friends were paraded through the streets, the various and foreign-looking Flood forms shouting curses, spitting on them, and yelling all sorts of insults geared towards fascism. Two of the soldiers who apprehended them were carrying a sign that said "Any one of these could have killed your son". Stanley watched the other apprehended combat forms. All of his friends were yelling and cursing back at the jeering crowds, except for Big Pat and Anderson. Pat was presumably sobbing subtly to himself and Anderson walked with his head held high, making zero acknowledgments of the others. Being a professional fascist and high-ranking Delugian soldier, he knew exactly what to do while captive.

_Great_,_ Anderson will probably be the one to blow our possible plea of anti-fascism_, Stanley thought to himself.

They were brought to a large underground chamber beneath the city. Propaganda posters and Committee for Flood Safety, or KBFB, officers bordered the walls of the claustrophobic tunnels they passed through. Every once in a while, Stanley could see the officers that arrested them kick, smack, or hiss at one of his friends in front. They seemed to treat Anderson the worst, by what he could observe. He was also the one who put up the least resistance.

The file had walked for a very long time before they came to a massive archway. Passing through it, they were met with a mass of flesh centered in the middle of the chamber. A long, vine-like appendage emerged from the monstrous mass as the mound split at the top in what was used as a mouth.

"Comrade Gravemind……we hiv managed to capture the fesciss for you," the leader said.

"……Excellent, comrade," Comrade Gravemind answered in a deep and rasping voice. "You are aiding in the quest, communism soon."

The "fascist" combat forms were lined up in front of the Gravemind's pit, barrels of rifles pressed against their backs.

"Children of Ivan, why have you come to this place? Our Floodshevik state."

"Führer Gravemind, sir, we're _not_ children of Ivan. We are not and never were supporters of Commanders Ivan or Jared and their totalitarian ring," Stanley defended.

"You call me 'Führer', rituals used by Ivan, a dead give-away."

"God dammit."

"And why may I ask, did one of my comrades here, find a fascist pin? And it was outside, outside your place of dwelling……against communists?"

"……That um, it was—"

"—It belongs to _me_, Führer Gravemind," Anderson addressed the enormous beast. "I admit to being an active member of the 'Galactic Socialist Flood Workers' Party'……the Deluge Party."

The various officers and high-ranking officials began to whisper amongst themselves. Anderson, although on his knees, sat up straight, flaunting his impeccable soldier mannerism. Stanley turned to Anderson, who was one Flood away.

"What are you doing?! You're gonna wreck this for us and get us all shot!" he whispered harshly.

"Stanley, if _I_ confess, they'll only punish _me_. You did all you could to resist Ivan's terror, _you_ don't deserve any part of this Commie shit," Anderson answered.

"Do you wish to share, whatever you are saying, with other Comrades? We would like to know, what is on your mind right now, you'll be punished soon," Comrade Gravemind said.

"Führer—Comrade Gravemind—these men wanted nothing to do with our government or the party. They did all they could to resist our forces and sabotage our plans. I was the Commander in Chief of the dictator's bodyguard and police force. I am the one you are looking for. But I assure you, I was only following orders, sir. I didn't know about—"

"—Following orders? This is what you say to me. I do not believe," Comrade Gravemind interrupted.

"Sir, I was only following orders! I implore you. Have mercy on the other soldiers, I am the only one who supported the government you despise," Anderson pleaded.

"We do not support, your greedy authority, the _people_ own all. But I admire, you are selfless and honest, admire indeed. In this case I say, your punishment won't be great, as I intended. You will take your troops, to the coldest parts of ring, you now work for me."

Somewhat disappointed by the outcome of the trial, the KBFB officers seised Stanley, Big Pat, and Anderson with even more distaste.

"But just to be sure, you won't go back to old ways, I'll hold onto them," Comrade Gravemind finished, wrapping the other four soldiers with vine-like tentacles and hauling them away.

"No! You can't do that! It's not—"

Before Stanley could protest, an officer dealt him a blow to the stomach with the butt of a shotgun.

"Enemies of state, conspirers against me? Your friends will wait here."

"Why not use them as soldiers like us?" Stanley gasped angrily.

"It is too risky, I know nothing of their pasts, that guy could have lied," the Flood entity said, pointing to Anderson with one of his many free tentacles. "You may remove them, I've finished with them right now, take them to their posts." With that, the officers shoved Stanley, Patrick, and Anderson out of the great hollow and back into the set of tunnels to their new posts and new assignment. Most unfortunately for Stanley, he was back in the army of another government he hated.


	8. Chapter 8: New World Disorder

**Chapter VIII: New World Disorder**

**Ninth Age of Reclaimation**

**Covenant Holy City, High Charity**

The air inside the Covenant holy city of High Charity was full of tumultuous anxiety and change. Word of the murder of the high Prophet of Regret was spreading through the floating city like wildfire and many of the soldiers and alien races were already beginning to whisper and point fingers. Almost as if someone had thrown a switch, many of the aliens had already begun to accuse _the Sangheili_ of the murder, concocting outlandish rumours that high-ranking officers had a joint pact with "the Daemon" or had killed the Prophet as a warning that they would attempt to overthrow the San Sh'yumm as leaders of the Covenant. The worst of all were the Jiralhanae. The Sangheili had experienced a slow trickling of Brutes into their district, their welcome into the Covenant being a rather recent event. The newcomers weren't the friendliest of types, however, they didn't go out of their way to show their uneasy feelings towards the other race. They normally kept to themselves and said nothing. Now, with this new air of change, Brutes could be seen heckling or shoving the Elites around any chance they had.

Uncle Śzerman, one of Riley's relatives, had just stepped outside to retrieve the mail from their box. Adjusting his glasses and sifting through the grey disks, each addressed differently, he made sure their box closed automatically before limping back up their stoop to the house, singing a Sangheili folk song lightly to himself as he went. As he did so, he felt something wet hit the back of his thigh. Thinking that it might have been rain, he turned around and discovered a pale yellow wad of saliva dripping slowing into his leg armour. Thoroughly disgusted, he looked up and saw a young Brute standing by their stoop.

"Heel!" he growled menacingly.

"_Excuse me_?" Uncle Śzerm answered, glaring at him over the frames of his glasses.

"Why don't you crawl back to the cave you were grown in, you filthy four-jawed pig! I will _not_ wait for my Captain to arrive to take action."

"Why you accursed animal!" Uncle Śzerm retaliated, grabbing the energy blade attached to his side. It sizzled to life as he activated it and was about to charge the Brute, when Uncle Chuckspa grabbed his sword arm and held him fast.

"Unhand me, Chuckspa! I wish to teach this—this _Jiralhanae_ a lesson!" Śzerm demanded with spite.

"Calm down, Śzerman. Don't do something you're going to regret," he said, voice lowered, as he eyed the Brute shot the beast had pulled over his shoulder.

"And submit to these dirty beasts? I will do no such thing!"

All the ruckus had attracted the attention of Aunt Gladjs. He came to the door quickly.

"What seems to be the problem here?" he inquired.

"Gladjs, control your brother before he gets himself killed," he ordered, handing Śzerman off to his partner. Gladjs gripped his wrist until Śzerman thrust his sword back to his armour, fusing to his thigh. Uncle Chuckspa looked down the street and noticed a file of Jiralhanae soldiers chasing other Sangheili into their homes, hollering racial slurs, and wrestling anyone who protested to the ground.

"What's going on here?" Chuckspa asked of the Brute soldier, still armed with his Brute shot.

"The noble Prophets have replaced you _heels_ as their honour guards. The holy ones don't need you anymore. _This_ district belongs to the Jiralhanae now!" he spat.

Chuckspa had begun to protest, when a large Brute flanked by three others approached the house. A holo-flag of the Jiralhanae flapped virtually from a small pole on his back.

"What is this?" the Sangheili demanded.

"……This building looks suitable. I'll take this one," he said to his troops, failing to acknowledge Chuckspa's question. That being said, the three Brutes growled and stormed into the house.

"Pardon me, but this is _our_ home."

"Not anymore, it isn't. The Prophets said that the Sangheili must give up their homes to any and all Jiralhanae. It was _your_ vile race which failed to protect the high Prophet of Regret. You Sangheili are conspirers against them and they don't wish to risk another assassination," the Captain explained, drawing a red plasma rifle and beating it against his opposite palm slowly.

"What are you talking about? Everyone knows 'the Daemon' was the one who murdered the Prophet!"

"Are you sure some of your _heel_ buddies weren't accomplice to him during the assassination?"

"The nerve! I pledged my entire existence to the holy ones and served as a member of their Special Operatives squad! I wish nothing but long life and good health to our glorious leaders!" Uncle Śzerm interjected, stepping in front of the Captain. Noticing the Sangheili's injury, the Brute Captain cruelly kicked the exposed knee of Śzerman's cripple leg. Śzerm collapsed to the ground with a grunt of pain. Gladjs went to help him up but the first Brute was already aiming the barrel of his Brute shot at them. Chuckling, the Captain addressed Chuckspa again.

"This house belongs to _me_ now. You are to move to the outskirts of the city. We've set up a nice……camp for you. You've got _one_ cycle."

"My clan members and I refuse to live in a camp _or _a ghetto," Uncle Chuckspa stated, planting his feet on the ground in front of the stoop firmly.

"……Would you prefer my pack and I to assist you in relocating? The camp is just outside of this district," he said as the younger beast held up his Brute shot, its barrel pointed at Chuckspa's partner and in-law. "We'll carry you in pieces, if it's easier for you."

Chuckspa had no choice but to submit. He averted his eyes but didn't lower his head.

"You've one cycle," the Captain reminded. With that, he spat in the Sangheili's face and turned to leave. The other three Brutes stayed in the house, waiting for the family to begin. The first Brute took out a writing utensil and painted three slash marks, the insignia of a Jiralhanae, on the front stoop. Others could be seen doing the same around the neighbourhood. Gladjs helped Śzerman up gently.

"I _don't_ need help," he reminded, wrenching his arm from his brother's.

"You've been injured, Śzerman."

"I am a Sangheili warrior!" he groaned, grasping his knee as he winced with pain. Trying to stand, he was forced to lean on his brother for support.

"Chuckspa, are we really going to live there, in that filthy camp?" his partner asked him.

"No, Gladjs. Gathering up all of yours and Riley's things……we're going _home_," he stated impassively, removing his square-framed glasses and wiping the saliva from them.

Deep within the confines of the Prophet Hierarch's Inner Sanctum, Sangheili honour guard Captain Clark 'Voorlakee exited the Phantom with part of his squad. They had lost a few to "the Daemon" and were anything but anxious to hear how they would be punished. Clark and the other Sangheili sauntered slowly through the dark corridors as they made their way to their posts.

"What do you think the Prophets are going to say?" Clark asked his friend 'Dorsee.

"They will not be happy, but I am sure they will take into account the circumstances we were faced with," 'Dorsee answered with much assurance. Clark was a severe pessimist, so this didn't do very much to lift his spirits.

As they came nearer and nearer to their original posts, the Elites continued to see others passing them, without their crested helmets or energy pikes, standard issue for honour guards. All of them refused to speak to or acknowledge their entering peers. In their places stood Brutes, wearing the aforementioned helmets and holding their pikes.

"This is strange……what's going on?" Clark inquired aloud.

"I have a hard time believing the Prophets would recommission the honour guard. Perhaps this unit only is incompetent," 'Dorsee stated.

'Dorsee proved to be very wrong upon their entrance to the corridor before the Prophet's chamber. They took their position in their designated spots right before a troupe of Brutes came through the doors. Clark, standing at the head along with 'Dorsee, were among the first to hear of the news.

"Hand over your pike! You are no longer the Prophet's guard!" the Brute Captain ordered.

"W-What?" Clark stuttered.

"Haven't you heard? The holy ones have recommissioned the guards! The Sangheili will no longer protect our leaders."

"But……but, we have—"

"—Do it, Clark. What is done is done. There is nothing we can do," 'Dorsee said, his pike being jerked out of his hand despite his grip on it.

Clark watched in horror as the other Sangheili guards were robbed of their helmets and pikes, some violently, others passively. The young Sangheili was crushed. Not only was he nearly killed by the green "Daemon", he was now a regular civilian, his position stolen from him, his only dream destroyed. He looked up as the door sounded a low tone……the Arbiter, along with his best friend Riley 'Bodensee, entered. They passed by two Brutes fighting over a helmet.

"Whoa, Arby? What's goin' on here?" he questioned.

"For the last time, please, will you use my entire honourific?" he answered.

"_Arbiter_……" Riley sighed, rolling his eyes. Clark lowered his head as soon as his eyes met Riley's. The blue-armoured Sangheili rushed over to his friend.

"Clark! Clark, what's going on here? What _is_ all this?" he asked, putting both of his hands to his neck.

"……We're being replaced by the Jiralhanae," he answered solemnly.

"Riley, are you coming?" the Arbiter asked.

"Hold on a sec, 'kay? My buddy's upset."

The holy warrior crossed his arms over his chest and began tapping his foot on the floor impatiently.

"Why? Why are they doing this?" Riley pressed on.

"……Because—" Clark wouldn't say anymore. "……My father's probably so disappointed with me now."

"No, no, Clark, don't say that. You-you know what, you still _are_ an honour guard. You still come from a lineage of honour guards. It's in your blood. Don't worry, I'm sure this is only temporary, just so they can see if they like it."

"Riley! We cannot keep the Prophets waiting."

"You are so _punctual_!" Riley retorted.

"_Hey_, I—well, yes, I am."

"Gimme five units."

"……I am going."

"No, wait!"

"Here I go……I am going……going to see the Prophets on time, like I _should_ be," the Arbiter said, slowly backing up towards the massive door to their chamber.

Riley took a few seconds to start and stop towards the door, then gave Clark a quick hug. "It's okay buddy, you'll get your job back, gotta go! Good luck!" he said with his annoying laughter before hastily following the Arbiter through the door.

"Psh, he's _not _getting his job back," a Brute snickered.

"Your daddy's so fat, he could've used Halo as a girdle!" Riley insulted before dashing into the chamber.

"What?!" the Brute yelled.

Inside the chamber, the Prophets of Truth and Mercy were stationed in front of a large panel displaying the newest in the series of the Halo rings. They were both conversing with the SpecOps Commander Rtas 'Vadumee and two other Elites.

"This is unprecedented……unacceptable," he said as they listened in on their conversation.

"You know, maybe if you cried, we would change the honour guards back," Mercy suggested sarcastically.

"Thine warriors hath failed in the protection of our holy brother. For such an unspeakable crime, ye should get the nooseth," Truth explained.

"We are at a Defcon 5, so this means we swap the honour guards, establish curfew, and scapegoat the Sangheili. Pogroms are optional, but usually favoured among the populace."

"Thou idiotic idiot! Thou should not telleth him that!" Truth snapped.

"But, his murderer was within our grasp. If you had not withdrawn our Phantoms—"

"—Doth mine ears detect witchery in thine voice?"

"No, holy one. I only wish to express my concern that the Jiralhanae—" Truth silenced him by raising his hand.

"Unless thou wisheth to be boiled in a vat of oil, thou willst do well to keep thine piehole shut."

"……I shall relay your 'decision' to the council," the Commander said. With that, he and his Sangheili turned and made to exit the chamber. He nodded to the Arbiter. Riley pounded his chest twice and flashed the intergalactic "V for Victory". 'Vadumee put one hand to the side of his eye when he passed.

"Something wicked this way comes," the Prophet of Truth said as the Arbiter and Riley approached their gravity thrones.

"……Wait a unit, you are _still_ _alive_?" Mercy said in Riley's direction. "I mean, you are still alive, yeah……good," he corrected himself.

"And kickin!" Riley said with a bout of laughter.

"Hey, Arby, guess what? The Sangheili said that they do not want to be on the Council of Particular Worth anymore……what do you have to say about _that_?"

"Ha! See, the Prophets do it too!"

"But, _we_ have always been your protectors. There must be some sort of miscommunication."

"It is the divine wish of our lords and masters that new soldiers of the Foreunners emerge as protectors of their instruments."

"We are still trying to recover from when _you_ blew up the first ring! I still get teary-eyed whenever I think about it……that poor ring……it could not even defend itself," Mercy said, getting choked up. Riley took out a Zippo lighter decorated with "CCCP" in gold plating and held it out emotionally as he nodded in response.

"Thou shouldst consider thyself lucky thou hast such a devout leader, for mine constant benedictions have been answered," Truth stated.

"—It was so young—"

"—Beholden the grand gifts from the gods!" he said, turning and holding his arms out to the screen which displayed the new ring.

"—It never had chance—" Mercy continued to sob.

"With this new relic, we shalst be able to alight it, terminate the sinning dogs, and propeleth all who are worthy along the path to eternal salvation!" Truth said.

"—I hope it didn't have a family to support."

"Shutting thine mouth," Truth said to the other Prophet.

"I call pushing the button on this ring! Dave got to do it last time," Riley said, raising his hand.

"There is no button, imbecile! You have to find the Index in order to, you know, make it go," Mercy said, drifting over to as pedestal in which 343 Guilty Spark was being held captive.

"……_I hate my life_," the Monitor said.

"The Oracle was gracious enough to tell us exactly how to work the rings," Mercy said. "After an embarrassing and revealing questionnaire."

"_No_, _really_……_I hate my life_," Spark continued.

"Arby! We get to go on another road trip! Aren't you excited?!" Riley said enthusiastically. "This time maybe we can play the mixtape I made!"

"Whoopee," he answered.

In no time, both Sangheili were aboard their Phantom with the Chieftain Tartarus and headed for the surface of Delta Halo. They stood at the back of the troop bay, next to a file of Brutes.

"Once the shields are down, head straight for the Library. I do not wish to keep the Hierarchs waiting," Tartarus said to his pilot.

The Arbiter looked to Riley at his right, who was engaged into a rather extravagant dance. The Brutes had allowed him to play his mixtape for one last hurrah, expecting him to kick the bucket on the upcoming mission, and he was rockin' out to the song "I Am Now in Sing-Sing" by Dumb People with Dumb Agendas, a rather unpopular post-punk band from the colony Arcadia.

"The human that killed the Prophet of Regret……who was it?" he axed Tartarus.

"_Duh_!" came a violent answer. "What do you care? Looking for a little pay back?"

"Retrieving the Icon is my only concern," the Elite said, taking up a carbine.

"Of course……" the Chieftain said with a chuckle. "Those _heels_ were probably conspiring with the humans," he said to the pilot after he made sure the ship radio had been switched off.

"I agree, Chieftain," the pilot said obediently.

"At least, it's what we should convince the others to believe. We needn't stop spreading rumours like that around the holy city," Tartarus advised.

"I love rumours. It's just like high school……but there are more firearms."

"Not necessarily," Tartarus corrected.

Soon after the Arbiter's debriefing, the Phantom pulled up to a ledge on the side of a large structure. The holy warrior and Riley dropped down onto it and the purple ship hovered away slowly.

"Oh man, Arby, this is gonna be so fun! We get to have some quality bonding time now that the others aren't here to cramp our style," Riley said with a laugh. The Arbiter took into account Riley's taped glasses, blue armour, and relatively scrawny physique and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, you are definitely _not_ cramping _my_ style," he sighed sarcastically.

"So what did you think of my mixtape?"

"……I actually liked the third song. I did not understand the rest."

"Oh yeah! That song was called 'Valentine' by Maurice Chevalier. He was from Earth a long time ago."

The Arbiter stopped dead in his tracks. Now he liked _another_ witch artist. Great.

Riley had begun explaining who Chevalier was, when a low humming noise began to thrum. After an attack of looking around frantically, the holy warrior watched an enormous Sentinel rise up behind Riley, who was busy investigating something on the bottom of his boot.

"I think I stepped in gum," he concluded.

"Um, Riley, Riley!" the Arbiter said, pointing at the huge machine.

"Yessim?" he answered, looking up and noticing the other Elite. "……Oh, charades! I love charades! Okay, let's see……one word, three syllables, um……big! It's really big! Um, Winston Churchill! Hermann Göring? No, those are names. Lekgolo? Fat Albert? I give up," Riley concluded as he turned around. Upon seeing the enormous Sentinel Major, he screamed in absolute terror. "Sweet Georgia Brown! It demands sacrifice!" he yelled as he bolted into the building. The Arbiter, in all of his badass glory, stayed and fired two carbine projectiles at the machine. Luckily, it was sprayed with a burst from Tartarus's Phantom's plasma cannon.

"_Lower the shields, Arbiter! I'll pick you up when you're finished_!" he said over the comm. as the Sentinel drifted after the ship.

"Holy Toledo! Did you see that thing?! It was bigger than George Foreman's ego!" Riley said, clutching his chest dramatically.

"Let us hurry. We do not wish to stall the promise of the Great Journey," the Arbiter said, tossing down his plasma pistol carelessly and picking up a Sentinel beam.

The ledge was very untidy. Bodies, blood spatters, weapons and modules, and pieces of shrapnel littered the area. A scattering of tiny flying robots whizzed around the room, occasionally zapping various objects with thin teal beams.

"Aaaaaaw, Arby, lookit these little guys! Aren't they just adorable?" Riley said, pointing to one as it hovered over his head.

"Riley, _do not_ touch them. They could be loaded with germs……or death," the holy warrior advised.

"What are you talking about? These guys wouldn't hurt anybody. I'm gonna call this one 'Little Riley'!" he said, gently touching one. As soon as he touched it, its light flashed, it ascended to the ceiling and disappeared.

"IT WON'T LOVE ME!" Riley cried out.

"Another thing you can add to your list," the Arbiter said as he jumped up to the back of the room. Riley stared after him, dumbstruck.

"_Whoa_……I _cannot_ believe you just went there. Especially after your trial today. Frankly, _you_ got the pointy end of the stick. _That_ was the pot calling the kettle black."

"The Prophets and the council thought we were _both_ witches," the Arbiter corrected as a Grunt triggered a piston for them.

"Well yeah, but—" Riley stopped mid-sentence as he joined the holy warrior in peering down the shaft the piston descended into. "Um, Arby? We're not going down there."

"It is the only way I can see."

"No, really. We're not going down there. Just look at it! It's ominous, foreboding, and it's kinda dark. It's also loaded with Unggoy blood which stains armour something terrible."

"Riley, if you go down there, I will make you my squire."

"……_No_," Riley said in a tone that indicated he wasn't going to be fooled by another trick.

"You have my word as a warrior and a gentleman."

"Really?"

"Indeed. Take care," he said as he pushed Riley into the shaft. He also entered, plagued by the sound of the minor officer's echoing and bloodcurdling shrieks. The piston shaft ride was long and grisly, it's walls having been covered with either the corpses of lower class Covenant soldiers or blood from said lower class soldiers. Eventually, the Arbiter hit solid ground, feet first. Riley landed on him a second later.

"Whoa! That was awesome! How many tickets for _this_ ride, sir?" the geeky Sangheili laughed.

"How did I get ahead of you?" the holy warrior demanded.

"I-I don't know, man. This place is weird."

Ignoring the absurdity, the Arbiter rose and took notice of another piston. Another shaft ride was inevitable. This one wasn't nearly as long, but the Elites were careful to notice the fact that someone had written "Who you are?" on one of the walls in shining blue blood. They landed once more and were faced with a different room. All seemed to be quiet as they stepped though the archway. Shrapnel littered the floor.

"Think someone's already been here?" Riley inquired, picking up a round, flat sheet of metal.

"So it would seem," the Arbiter answered, inspecting the bodies of two dead soldiers. They pressed on until they found another piston. Before having a chance to try and get close to it, they heard a high-pitched sound and a Sentinel popped out of a generator. Spying Riley first, it chirped and fired a beam at him. He yelled and held up his sheet of metal, the beam leaving black streaks as it charred the makeshift shield. As the machine hovered lower, the Arbiter took the opportunity to smash his Sentinel beam into the back of the mechanical deviant, shattering it as it burst into flames, crashing to the floor.

Riley lowered the shield, eyes wide.

"That was a good idea, 'Bodensee. I will give you kudos for that," the holy warrior commented, tapping the shield.

"Well duh, I mean, you're _only_ talking to a genius," he replied with a chuckle as they triggered the piston.

Falling down piston shafts seemed to be the preferred method of transportation on the outskirts of the Index Library, so that was the way the Elites travelled. The fourth shaft brought them to a more active chamber, the squeals and cackles of Grunts and Jackals echoed throughout the room.

"Our soldiers were brought here before us," the holy warrior concluded. He turned and addressed his comrade. "I like the teamwork we demonstrated earlier. Why not run around the room and distract the Sentinels while I assist our soldiers?"

The blue-armoured Sangheili contemplated this. "……So I'm _bait_?"

"I would use a different term, like mobile target," the Arbiter assured.

"Oh, that's rich, Arby……real rich," Riley said in a huff.

"I never said you could not use a weapon," the Arbiter commented, hefting up his Sentinel beam and charging into the fray. Riley heaved a long, irritated sigh and stormed out to a different part of the room. He took notice of a flying machine that had pinned two Grunts in red armour in a corner. Realising that a stream of plasma would be almost no help, he noticed a scattering of grenades on the floor beside a Brute corpse. Making a particularly swarthy face, Riley reached down, seised the grenade, and chucked it at the Sentinel. Using his newfound talent for pitching, it stuck fast to the robot and sizzled. Exploding a few seconds after, it showered bits of shrapnel and sparks as the machine spiraled down into one of the Forerunner's famous bottomless pits. The Elite observed that the Sentinel had been close enough to its generators on the wall that it was destroyed as well in the explosion of plasma. Excited about his new find, he called out to the Arbiter.

"Arby! Arby, guess what?!" he exclaimed, hopping over random metal embankments.

"What is it?" he demanded, unloading the last carbine projectiles of the clip into a robot as it broke.

"Arby, go for those things on the wall, the ones that look like my shield," he suggested, displaying his burnt metal shard. "I find that grenades work the best."

"Since you are so well-versed, I have a new plan. You have a good arm so you will take out the Sentinel generators. I will distract them for you."

"Aha, now the tables are turned! Now _you're_ bait!" Riley laughed heartily at this.

"I can throw grenades too."

"……Yeah, I'll get on that," the geeky Elite submitted, crossing a bridge to the other side of the room. With Riley's pitcher's arm and the Arbiter's three seconds camouflage, they had the room devoid of all mechanical threats in a matter of minutes. They had also gathered up two Grunts and a Jackal.

"Be free my pretties, be free! Freeeeee!" Riley cackled as he held out his arms above the lower-ranking Covenant. The Arbiter was investigating a short tunnel filled with popping, electrical-stimulated machines. The air was heavy and it aggravated the Elites' shield systems as they passed through.

They handled the second room in the same manner, disposing of the machines, but picking up no new reinforcements. They actually lost one Grunt. They also came across another shaft ride that dumped them before a vast room, guarded by one gliding Sentinel Major.

"Oh shiz," Riley commented, cowering behind the Arbiter.

"_You've reached the shield's power source, Arbiter. Overload the locks holding it in place_," Tartarus instructed to them over the comm.

"This that, this that, double double this that," the Arbiter recited to himself as he rolled his eyes and reloaded his carbine.

"You say that too?! Oh my Prophets, can it be our secret password?!" Riley inquired hopefully.

"Password? For what?"

"……Our friendship. So that way, if someone steals one of us, they'll need to know the password to gain access to our love."

The Arbiter stared at his comrade hard for a few. "You are bait again."

"……What?!" he called out as the Arbiter vanished into thin air and began his advance on the huge machine. Staring at it, Riley gulped and then jumped down onto the platform underneath. The Sentinel Major took notice immediately, humming loudly and slowly approaching the soldier. He found refuge in a small passageway behind him. He followed it around until it brought him next to one of the locks on the platform. The Major was busy firing on his previous position, so he took the opportunity to severely thrash the lock with his plasma rifle. His shenanigans, for nothing Riley ever did was quiet, attracted the unwanted attention of the Sentinel Major. Blinking and beeping, it began to creep towards the overzealous young Sangheili. Noticing a shadow had been cast over the area, he looked up and discovered the giant machine. Releasing a bloodcurdling shriek, he dove out of the way, barely missing its crane-claw-like metal talons. The warrior picked himself up and leapt clear of the path of red balls of energy that were being fired upon him. Sliding down a ramp and underneath the platform, the minor Elite caught his breath as he watched the Sentinel search for him through the glass floor.

"Riley! What are you doing down here? You are supposed to be distracting those machines," the Arbiter's voice reprimanded from somewhere close.

"Arbiter, is that you? Where you at?" he answered, holding his hands out and trying to feel for the holy warrior.

"I am over here."

"I don't see you."

"Right here."

"……Speak words of comfort, kind spirit!" The younger soldier ran right into his partner in crime as he materialised before him. "Oh, hello," he said with a laugh.

Pushing him off, the Arbiter reloaded his rifle.

"We have but one lock left. I will sneak out over here. It is your job to distract the machine from the opposite ramp."

"Did you try asking them if you could unlock the thing?" Riley inquired. The Arbiter made a move toward him, which frightened Riley and sent him up the opposite ramp. The Major's back was turned to him which meant that the Arbiter would have one hell of a time trying to hit the lock should his camo give out, and it most certainly would. Gathering up his courage, he addressed the guardian of the locks.

"Hey!" Riley called out. It chirped and turned around to find out what had made the noise. "……Imo eet yo keeeeeedz!" the blue-armoured Elite finished, holding up the scorched metal shard. The floating behemoth answered with a low-toned beep and flew towards the alien, metal talons snapping like the fangs of a giant spider.

"I have got it!" the Arbiter shouted as the sharp noise from the lock pierced the air. Scooping up two discarded plasma rifles, the holy warrior aimed at the monster's back and unloaded a storm of blue plasma. Parts began to break off of the Major as it slowly and jerkily turned around to face its attacker.

"Attack it now, 'Bodensee!" the Arbiter ordered, backing down the ramp. Looking around in a frenzy, the other Elite spied a Sentinel beam on the floor and seized it. Closing one eye as he aimed, he burned the back of the Major. A constant stream of laser proved enough to destroy the beast. It broke apart in a twisted metal torrent and crashed to the platform underneath.

"Whoo yeah! That was a hoot!" Riley cheered as the Arbiter emerged from underneath the platform.

"Excellent work, Riley," the congratulated. A small control panel sprung up on the front of the platform and unfolded neatly. Both Elites approached it curiously. The holy warrior studied it closely.

"Oh man, I hope they don't make us do something intricate with like riddles and stuff. I don't think I can handle a situation like that as well as the Goonies did," Riley complained.

"You just have to push this panel," Arby stated, doing so. Upon pressing the button on the panel, a massive jolly roger emerged from the center console. Billowing out to the arbitrary north, the platform jerked forward and clicked along its conveyor to the next part of the wall.

"Onward!" proclaimed Riley as he stood out front and struck a gallant "Captain Morgan" pose.

Stanley had no idea what time it was. Everything he had done in the last few hours, so he assumed, had been underground and with scarce light. Right after their "trial", he, Big Pat, and Anderson were led into an armoury, given arms and new armour, made to wait for an unbearably long time in a plain room, forced to swear an oath of diligence and neverending service to Comrade Gravemind, and packed into a stolen dropship presumably headed to whatever post they were being assigned to. Guilt was the only thing on the miserable Flood's mind. Comrade Gravemind was holding his friends hostage but he couldn't be sure about whether or not they were actually alive. Now he was headed to some godforsaken part of a new world fighting for another government he dispised. He stared down at the new boots he was wearing and the metal floor of the dropship. Stanley covered his face with his hands and waited to get to their destination.

It was an exhausting ride, but he finally made it. Upon arrival, Stanley felt the air grow much cooler, even in the cramped troop bay of the dropship. When it lowered its ramp, the soldiers were met with a brisk flurry of snowflakes and a frigid breeze.

"Everyone out!" the Company Commander ordered and the Flood exited. Stanley was the last one before the CC as his boots hit the ground. "Ten-hut! About face!" he ordered of the parasites. Once they were all lined up, he divided the soldiers evenly. "You half patrol down there," he gestured to the group and pointed to his left. "The rest of you that way," he indicated to the right. "Be on the lookout for everything and anything," he hissed, looking directly at Stanley as he said this. "Move out! Dissssssmissed!" he concluded, sending them off. Slinging his battle rifle over his shoulder, Stanley sauntered up the chamber, in search of somewhere to sit and shirk his duties. Taking out his last pack of Halo-made cigarettes from home, he found he only had one left. He gently put it to his lip and lit it. Exhaling the fragrant smoke from his nose as he breathed, he continued forth.

He had searched through his platoon's entire side of the long chamber and found Captain Anderson overseeing the various Flood in the area. He was still wearing his black overcoat but the Floodshevik had tore off his maroon GSFWP armband and replaced it with a yellow one with a red infection form, its tentacles extended to form the points of an inverted star. Hearing the scrape of dragging boots, he turned around and smiled brightly as he discovered Stanely.

"Stanley! Boy, am I glad to see you!" he said warmly, holding out his arms, expecting a hug.

"Yeah, hi, Anderson," he replied, letting the Captain hug him tightly.

"Thank you so much for earlier. You sure know how to make a guy feel like a real man," he said, resting his hands on the Lieutenant's hips. Stanley's host's original rank was first Lieutenant, but he had been demoted by the Delugians because of all the trouble he caused. He lied about his rank and the new army, ignorant to the truth, let him assume the rank.

"Listen, Anderson……there's something I should probably tell you—"

"—You and I are gonna be so happy together. I've been waiting for this for quite some time, let me tell you—"

"—Hold on there, trigger—"

"—If it's not any trouble, I'd like to be on the giving end for a while, just because I haven't done it in a long time. We can switch around after I've had—"

"—TJ!" Stanley said loudly. The Captain immediately shut his mouth, looking a little startled. "……Look, Anderson. I know you're geeked about having had an evening with me finally, but the truth is……"

"What is it, Stan?" he inquired, taking his hands in his gently. Stanley pulled away.

"……It's just……we're not partners."

"What do you mean? Back in the room, we—"

"—That was just a one-night-stand. Truth is I'm still with Patrick, not with you."

Anderson looked greatly confused and a little frantic. "But-But……you and I……you said that you wanted to switch part—"

"—I told you I'd give you rebound action only. I'm still with Patrick. I'm sorry you misunderstood."

The Captain was crushed. He lowered his head solemnly. Stanley placed an apathetic hand on his shoulder.

"……Why would you do that to me?"

"I thought I was doing you a favour."

"……Is there at least hope?"

Stanley thought for a moment, averting his eyes. "……I can't answer that question, Teej."

Anderson's breathing became a little faster, an angry glint in his eye. Chancing a look at the Captain, Stanley saw him pull something out of his mouth. Taking a closer look, he saw it was a metal container shaped like a molar. Frantically and nearly in tears, Anderson fumbled with it to try and open it.

"What are you doing?!" Stanley inquired.

"I can't take this anymore! Everyone's insults and accusations, your lies and temptations, this damned communal living! I _won't_ work for Communists and I don't want to spend the remainder of my days alone! I'd rather _die_!" he cried out, removing a cyanide capsule from the false tooth. Before he could place it on his tongue, Stanley grabbed his wrist and held fast. Looking directly into the Captain's eye, he forced his hand down.

"Don't do anything stupid, TJ," he ordered sternly. "Stop acting like a kid. There are things far worse than this."

Anderson, regaining some of his composure, released the capsule. Stanley ground it to powder on the cold, steel floor.

"Just give me time……I'll find a way to get us out of this, I guarantee you." He saw Anderson's eyes begin to water. "Get a grip on yourself, TJ and follow my lead."

"……That's _Captain Anderson_, to you!" he demanded. Stanley's expression didn't change. "……I-I need some air," Anderson sounded on the verge of tears as he roughly brushed past the other soldier and exited via one of the ports on the wall. Into the harsh cold, he climbed up one of the pillars, blinking snowflakes from his eyes as they drifted behind the round lenses of his glasses. Finding a secluded nook in the wall, Anderson pulled his black overcoat tighter around his torso, removed his glasses, and didn't fight the inevitable tears that welled in his eyes.

Stanley decided to leave his post entirely. He didn't like his Company Commander, he didn't want to deal with Anderson's drama, and he didn't like fake, Stalinist-communism.

After figuring out how the piston system worked and strolling about for a while, he passed through a vent-like tunnel and arrived into the winter wonderland known affectionately as "the Quarantine Zone". Many other forms of Flood were occupying the area. There had apparently been no action of late by the relaxed, somewhat bored tone of the soldiers. Many were conversing, checking weapons, or reading. One squad was even tossing a plasma grenade around like a ball. Jumping down from the vent, his boots crunched wet, heavy snow. Spying a crude bridge made out of a damaged pipe, he crossed it to the other side, passing by a few carriers along the way.

"Stanley?" he heard a familiar voice ask. Turning his attention to a small, effervescent cave, none other than Big Pat, his significant other, emerged.

"Pat!" he answered, sprinting for the mouth of the cave. "Am I glad to see you!" When he reached him, Pat kept silent and crossed his arms over his chest.

"……Look, Pat, I can explain the whole Anderson thing. He just wanted rebound action, that's all. I wish you could have been there when I told him off back at his post. I really did. He got all sentimental and thought we were together and everything. But, I'm sorry. Whether you still believe me or not, back home in the base, I did what I did for weapons and information and to keep myself from being a rape victim. None of my……appointments……made me love any of those guys. They were all creeps and perverts. Almost all of them were straight, too. It was like prison. This was also the case for the Captain. I don't feel any differently about him. I may even feel a little resentment for him somehow. I just want you to know that I still care about you and I still want to be your partner. This ring appears to be pretty homophobic, so you shouldn't have to worry about anymore liaisons. I still want to be your partner, Patrick, that is, if you can ever forgive me for our rough past."

Big Pat still didn't respond. He sat completely placid.

"……I'd feel the same way if I were you," Stan sighed, giving him one last stare of grief. He turned to continue on, thinking there was probably nothing for him in this part of the ring now. After only four steps, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"When am I ever gonna learn? Mom warned me about you," Big Pat finally stated.

The Lieutenant smiled. "So, are we tight?"

"Yeah, wur tight." Both Floods embraced each other, but were immediately called out by a squad of combat forms sitting on top of a Scorpion tank.

"Hey! Are you two nancy boys done already?!" a hostile voice dangerously similar to actor Wallace Shawn called out to them.

"I think they're talkin' ta us, Stanley," Big Pat whispered.

"What else is new?" he answered, letting go of his partner and approaching the hecklers.

"You gotcher self a big mouth, don't you?" the Lieutenant said up to the other soldier.

"I calls 'em as I sees 'em, that's all," the soldier replied. He had a homely host body with a round face, yellow-lensed glasses, and a mop of brown hair.

"What's your name, hetero?" Stan inquired, placing his hands on his hips.

"Saunders, like the ice cream," he sneered.

"I'll make a note of it. How long've you been out here?"

"Three hours. Haven't seen anything yet. The scariest thing I've seen is your little game of grab-ass back there." His buddies laughed at this.

"Seems like _you'd_ rather been making prejudiced remarks than doing your duty."

"Hey, I'm just out here because it beats gettin' cranked up by the KBFB," he remarked quaintly.

"KBFB?" Stanley repeated, confused.

"Comrade Gravemind's enforcers. What are you? New or something?" Saunders jeered.

"Actually, yes, we just got over from 04."

"OoOoOoh," all of the other soldiers mocked.

"All the scary fascists," Saunders laughed.

"You think thirty seconds ago was bad, 04 would be your worst nightmare," Stanley grinned. "What's your rank?"

"Whatsit to you?"

"I bet I can beat it."

Saunders exchanged foolhardy glances with his cronies. "I'm a sergea—"

"—_First Lieutenant_," Stanley interrupted with excessive hostility. Saunders' troops looked at him worriedly.

"Inconceivable! No newbie's gonna make—"

"—Yeah? Well guess what. This'nancy boy's' got you outranked. _I'm_ in charge around here. What _I_ say goes and what _I_ say is a change in attitude. Are we clear?" he ordered, jumping on top of the Scorpion and staring the meek Sergeant down.

"……Crystal," he was forced to say.

"I don't like these Floods……they do mean things to people," Riley 'Bodensee murmured, following the Arbiter through a long, eerily quiet gallery.

"Every Flood does mean things, why do you think our forefathers tried to keep them in the rings?" the holy warrior explained, irritated.

They walked in silence until a voice came over a radio. Kneeling over a human corpse and adjusting his glasses, Riley gently and respectfully removed a radio from his gear. The voice very clearly hadn't belonged to a Sangheili and Riley took the liberty of identifying it.

"Why, that's a human voice, by golly!"

"What tipped you off? The fact that it came from a human radio?" the Arbiter sneered, listening closely. There were two frantic voices, both sounded like they were coming under a very rapid attack.

"Do you think it's some of our guys wherever they are?" Riley asked.

"I do not think so. Someone would have warned us of humans in the area."

_Good_, Riley thought.

"We must be on the lookout for the Flood. They are bound to have desecrated yet another place with their presence," Arby ordered.

"Can do." Cautiously, Riley's eyes scanned the area all around them as they advanced. He didn't like the creeping sense of dread that was starting to wash over him. Suddenly, they heard the same baby-being-attacked-by-a-drill noise that sounded before a major Flood ambush and took action. Riley pressed his back to the Arbiter's and they prepared for an engagement. Heavily armed combat forms crawled out of the walls, dropped from the ceiling, and called out all sorts of brash insults. Not as hateful and racial as the ones on the other Halo, Riley observed quickly, but still mean. They chose to attack social class, income, and economic identity. Fighting back-to-back, both Elites fired with the dual power of a Sentinel beam and a human shotgun, one can guess which weapon belonged to whom. The shotty proved to be a highly efficient weapon in combating the combat forms and Riley proved to be a decent marksman with it. Soon enough, the Floodshevik began dropping like flies, the walls and floor being sprayed with a mixture of green, vicious blood and severed body parts. Once all was said and done, the Elites, allowing their shields to recover for the umpteenth time, emerged from behind an archway and surveyed the area.

"C'mon, pound it," Riley pleaded as he held out a fist to the Arbiter. Ignoring the offer, he continued forth, picking up a new beam from a trashed Sentinel. Riley, let down, shadowed him.

The pair dealt with countless other invasions by the parasite, having used up almost all of the weapons at their disposal. All they were left with was a crappy SMG, a half-empty battle rifle, and a few grenades. They managed to slip past another Sentinel Major who was occupying itself with the surrounding Flood forces and find a piston to another level. Upon their land, all seemed relatively quiet once more.

"Really? Psh, this is gonna be cake!" Riley exclaimed aloud. Having said that, a dozen "Red" Floods appeared, staring down the unwelcomed Covenant guests.

"I wonder if the parasite will accept you as a prisoner and let me go?" Arby contemplated out loud, staring at Riley out of the corner of his eye.

Lieutenant Stanley had persuaded his new squad to continue on. He was in a particularly nomadic mood that day and, having seen nothing close to battle, he was growing rather bored and irate. The low grinding of the Scorpion's treads and the whipping of the wind were the only sounds in the valley. They stopped for a break, seeing as Saunders complained about something he thought was wedged in the treads. The soldiers dismounted. Stanley perched over Saunders's shoulder, wanting to both see what was wrong and to make him feel uncomfortable. Shaking his head, he grasped the back of the Sergeant's armoured vest and pulled him from the tank hatch.

"Nothing's in the treads and you can't read diagnostics. Here, I'll do it," he sighed closing the hatch and beginning his repairs. Saunders sneered, removing his glasses and using the bottom of his camouflaged shirt to wipe them down.

"……Pansy," he insulted sharply under his breath as he held the lenses up to the sky to make sure they had been cleared. As he did so, he noticed a bright flash through the right lens and saw what once was the Sentinel factory plummeting from out of the sky. A distant burning ball, it crashed to the surface of the ring quite a few klicks ahead of their position.

"Didju see that?!" another soldier gasped, lifting his helmet visor from over his eyes as he stared into the grey clouds with awe.

"What on the ring was that?!"

"It must have been the Sentinel factory!" Saunders said, placing his glasses back on his nose.

"Excellent! This will help our working class revolution," the helmeted Flood, Corporal Graves, said with excitement.

"We're all good. So, what'd I miss?" Stanley asked cheerfully, jumping down from the hatch.

Having fought an exhaustive battle through the lower reaches of the wall, the Arbiter and Riley found themselves passing through the same vent Stanley had before. The Flood in the area were still idling about. They hadn't taken notice of the Elites yet, however, all that was about to change. The sound of rushing air could be heard as the two Covenant soldiers spotted several of the coffin-shaped drop pods they used to bring in reinforcements of their own race. One by one, Special Operatives Elites in black armour broke away the doors and clambered out, ready as ever for war. All around, the two parties began engaging one another, the Arbiter and Riley taking a much deserved rest and letting their brothers in arms fight it out. In no time at all, the other Elites had carved through the Flood's defense and were now standing underneath the vent. Arby and Riley jumped down to greet their brothers.

"Why, if it isn't the Arbiter!" Norda 'Crosbee, one of their teammates from the mission to assassinate the Anti-Prophet exclaimed upon seeing them. "I see you're here too, Master 'Bodensee, very good," he added seductively.

"……Hi?" Riley answered cautiously. "'Scone's' with you too?" he noticed the other Elite. The two next to him were unfamiliar.

"Indeed he is."

"What about the others?"

Norda shook his head.

"Oh."

"We lost them on the mission before this."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Riley said.

"They died honourable deaths. Perhaps now 'Karmamee can be at peace."

"Are we going to waste our time with talk or are we going to help eradicate the parasite?" the holy warrior inquired.

"You really have a thing against talking, don't you?" Riley pointed out.

"I would like to carry out with my divine mission, if that is alright with you," he explained, crossing the pipe-bridge.

"He's cranky because I found the shotgun before him," Riley whispered to Norda as they followed.

"Our Commander is here with us. He has landed just ahead," one of the new Elites said.

"Yes!" Riley said.

With the combined effort of the SpecOps crew, clearing the Flood from the first part of the Quarantine Zone was done with little time wasted. They had since passed through a short cave and met up with Commander Rtas 'Vadumee. He had just slashed through the last infection form when he noticed the Arbiter and the crew.

"Arbiter, what are _you_ doing here?" he inquired, seemingly stunned by his presence. "Oh no, still breathing?" he groaned to the blue-armoured Elite.

"I am not dead yet!" he began singing.

"Stop," 'Vadumee commanded quaintly, holding a hand palm out. "Well, since you are here, I have a special job for you."

"Me? Really?" Riley said anxiously.

"Yes. It is the most important job of all. You see that tree over yonder?"

"……You mean that one?"

"Just the one. Now, I need you to go over and stand by it."

"Is that all?"

"You want to do your part, do you not?"

"Sure, sure I do!"

"Then hop to it."

With that, Riley did as he was told and sped for the small tree.

"Like this?"

"No, a little closer."

"How about now?"

"Closer still."

"Good?"

"Just a liiiiiittle more……that is it!" the Commander said. Now, the young Sangheili was completely obscured by the tree. A nice trick to keep him out of the way.

"Excellent! Now wait there until I tell you to spring out."

"……I'm such a big help," Riley concluded happily to himself. After they had established themselves and had gotten the minor officer out of the way, the team was ready for another Flood ambush, which came with relatively quick procession. The experienced Sangheili warriors slashed, tore, and burned through the incoming enemy combat forms with deadly accuracy. Having to occasionally dodge heavy human weapons, they still managed to come out on top.

_I wonder why the Commander made me stand here? Sounds like all the action's going on over there_, Riley thought to himself as he pressed his back to the tree. He heard what sounded like a rocket exploding and loud voices. _Maybe the Prophets installed some weird, valuable chip in my head while I was asleep and they don't want the Flood to know I have it_, he pondered. The sound of a continuous energy turret beat in procession with the shots it fired. _Nah, that's silly. Maybe they're worried that I'll get the most kills and they sent me over here as not to overwhelm the Flood. Yeah, that's it_, he concluded with a grin.

As the battle with the Flood soldiers raged on, many important thoughts coasted through Riley's head, thoughts about how Giligan could make radios and such out of coconuts but not a boat, who killed not only Bob Crane, but Tupac Shakur and JamMaster Jay (coming to the conclusion that it was probably the same person), and where Waldo actually was. A Flood's arm flew past his head as he tried to remember what Waldo's dog's name was. He scratched his lower mandibles inquisitively as a rocket hit a snowbank a few yards from his position, kicking up a dark pile of snow and dirt.

"I'll be darned," he said, stumped. Things seemed to have quieted down and he peeked out from behind the tree. The squad of Sangheili warriors were gathered in a small circle by the portable sniper's perch above them. The group was missing one of the soldiers he didn't recognise.

"Can I come out now?" he yelled to 'Vadumee, who was giving a speech to his men.

"Yes, you are fine now."

"I was a good help, right Commander?" the younger Sangheili commented.

"Yes, yes you were," he said, mounting on the wing of a Spectre as it approached. Someone had cheekily painted the word "REGINA" on it.

"Forward, warriors! And fear not pain or death!" 'Vadumeee ordered.

"Wait, _what_?" Riley replied with the air of being knocked out of a stupor.

The renegade group of Flood soldiers was idling in a tunnel that led to the remains of the once mighty Sentinel factory, deciding on investigating it after the crash. Rubble and seared metal littered the area, much of it still burning. Stanley and Patrick had become more acquainted with the soldiers previously under Saunders's command, however, they were still very ignorantly uneasy about Stanley's sexual orientation. Saunders spent most of the time brooding in or around the tank. He was sitting on the trap to the cockpit, arms folded across his chest and a sneer on his face.

"Are you sure you wanna go in there, Loot? I reckon it's bound to be pretty dangerous," a private named Garrison asked. Stanley resented people who used the word "reckon", but he kept his composure.

"Yes I'm sure. Maybe we can set up a base in there or something," he replied. In reality, he couldn't care less about the advancement of the Flood, but he fingured it would be a good way to keep them occupied. The constant movement settled his nerves, made him forget about how he was still stuck in a war, forced to work for and with people who hated him, and that he was finally out of cigarettes. There was a moment of silence until one soldier perked up.

"Do you hear what I hear?" he asked, putting a hand to his ear.

"What, Bing?" Stanley retorted sarcastically.

"Yeah, I hear it too," Goodman agreed. It was sort of a dim creaking sound. Following as best they could, their eyes landed on one of the blown-out windows of the factory wreckage. A Sentinel Major clambered out from the window, its high-beam "eye" sweeping the ground underneath for enemies.

"That _definitely_ isn't a song," Stanley said, referring further to the Christmas tune.

"What do we do?!" Saunders inquired, panicked.

"Get your ass in that tank, ice cream man!" Stan ordered, taking up his battle rifle, setting the crosshair over the high-beam on the machine. Saunders immediately brought the turret up to position and fired at the Major. The Sentinel gave a few low-toned beeps and turned towards them, advancing slowly. The Lieutenant fired several controlled bursts at the monster and watched helplessly as they ricocheted off of its shields. He turned around and faced the soldier sitting behind him.

"Thursam! Why aren't you firing?!" he demanded of the frightened Corporal holding a rocket launcher. He backhanded the guy across the face to snap him out of it, but it was no use. The kid was in complete shock. Saunders belayed his firing to maneuver the tank out of the line of fire. The machine launched a stream of red, pulsing energy on their position. Barely missing, Saunders brought the turret back to position. The beastly Scorpion mortars were enough to defeat the Sentinel. It broke apart like one of the massive crabs in the level "Aquaria Towers" in Spyro 2 and crashed to the ring below, adding to the rubble.

"Good work, men," Stanley acknowledged, reloading his rifle. "Good hustle in the tank, Sandy."

"_Saunders_," he corrected.

"Wouldn't a crash like that wipe all of those machines out?" Goodman inquired shyly.

"I would have thought so, but it very clearly hasn't. We're sitting ducks out here in the open. Why don't we head inside? It will give us some cover," the Lieutenant suggested, checking the battery life on the plasma rifle on his belt.

"What about the tank?" Saunders asked.

"Unless you can find a way to get it into an eight by three space, we're leaving it," Stanley remarked, looking towards the small, mediocre archway into the interior of the factory remains. "I'm very good at getting big things in tight spaces, but I don't know how _you'd_ fair with a task like that."

The Arbiter marveled at the power of the Scorpion tank he now piloted. He and his team had managed to commandeer it from the Flood and were coasting along nicely through a series of tunnels through the Quarantine Zone. He had never driven the human vessel before and was surprised at the damage he could inflict with it. Riley was humming to himself as his eyes wandered around the tunnels. He sat on the outside, over the treads, grasping the handle provided for outside support. Norda was sitting next to him and looked like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. The younger Sangheili looked over to him, noticing his smug contentment. He was about to inquire why he was so happy when Norda groaned with satisfaction and leaned back against the turret. He lit himself a cigarette sensually.

"Um……enjoying yourself?" Riley asked.

"Very much so. Thanks for asking," he chuckled. "If you play your cards right, that could be from _you _next time."

Finally understanding what he was referring to, Riley's face went purple. He looked away, embarrassed.

"What song were you humming just now?"

"Oh, it was the number one hit by British rap star, Young Buckingham. It's called 'Them Soda Crackers'." Riley was into British rap. Not many humans were anymore. It died out during the late part of 2300 but ruled its kingdom well.

The Arbiter veered the Scorpion through a tunnel and the team was met with three combating Wraiths on the other side. He had just set the cross-hair in the perfect spot, ready to take out the first tank, when Riley prevented him from following through with his plan.

"Wait! Arby, I have a plan!" he said, crawling over to the tank hatch and peering inside.

"What is it?!" he demanded angrily with a growl.

"……Let's build a snow fort."

The other Elites looked at him like he had lobsters coming out of his ears.

"What?!"

"Yeah! We're in the snow world, so why not build a snow fort to keep the snow people out?"

The others pondered on this. "Well, it only makes sense," "Scone" remarked with a nod. The Arbiter, not wanting to be bothered with such child's play, continued to maneuver the tank around, firing upon the rival Wraiths. The others approved of the blue-armoured Sangheili's plan and set to work to build the fort of snow. They finished in relatively quick time, for the fort only had four foot walls. They piled in, ready for any assault the Flood could concoct.

"I dare anyone to challenge the might of Fort Snowinalottaroundeer!" Riley challenged the ring.

"Good name," a new Sangheili agreed.

Ignoring the immaturity of his team, the holy warrior continued sweeping the area with the mortars from the human tank. He cleared the area of Flood and Sentinels with the heavy artillery after a long battle across the canyon, all while the others repelled any onslaught in their fort of snow.

All had been relatively quiet around the Index Library. The Flood soldiers had yet to see an enemy of any race and they had a new arsenal of stolen enemy weapons at their disposal. That was, until a Pelican dropship, the pilot having difficulty seeing and having to deal with Commander Miranda Keyes's backseat-driving, struck the side of a mountain, the ship landing nose-first into the snow-dusted hill.

"How many times am I going to have to deal with this?! Did the UNSC hire a bunch of fifteen-year-olds to drive all of their machines?!" Keyes demanded as she clawed at the airbag that deployed in her position as co-pilot. You don't have to be in the backseat to be a backseat-driver.

"Give 'em a break, ma'am, it's a total white-wash out there. I thought _you_ would identify with that," Sergeant Johnson commented.

"……Was that a prejudice joke?" Miranda inquired in the form of a challenge, moving closer to the Sergeant. Avery only gave her a challenging glare. "If we're done making derogatory remarks about each others' colour, why don't we move out," she ordered. One by one the team exited the Pelican dropship, immediately shivering upon meeting with the cold air. None of them expected inclement weather.

"Damn, I never expected inclement weather!" a Marine said, rubbing his hands together furiously.

"This place is colder than my ex-wife," Miranda stated stoically, appearing not to be fazed by the below-freezing temperatures in the least.

"Mind if I use that?" a different soldier inquired hopefully.

"_Yes_!" she answered with a growl. "Why don't we head over yonder to that bulding?" she suggested, pointing to a large entrance within the cliff side and omitting the first "I" in building.

"You heard the lady, now move out!" Johnson barked, waving to his troops.

"Aren't you cold, ma'am?" the pilot questioned.

"……Northern daughters are _never_ cold."

"So, are we gonna fight some aliens or what?" Lieutenant Stanley asked his troops.

"I think I'd rather not. Corpsman LaVerne told me that I should abstain from alien combat until my wound heals," Big Pat interjected.

"Corpsman LaVerne, eh?" Stan said, rounding on his partner. "Corpsman LaVerne was hanged by Ivan and Jared on false accusations of treason. That was two years ago."

Pat wrung his hands nervously. "Wull, uh……it's a very bad wound."

"How come I haven't seen it? A man in my position is bound to notice something like a gaping wound." The other Flood soldiers fancied the ex-Elite with entertained yet accusing looks, not falling for the story either. None of them noticed a glasses-wearing, blue-armoured Elite sneaking by dramatically, following the shimmering outlines of actively-camouflaged Sangheilis. None except for Private Garrison. He curiously watched the alien creep in a very exaggerated manner across the small infernos that blazed within the bowels of the once great Sentinel Factory. He raised an eyebrow, slowly reaching back and tugging on the Lieutenant's utility belt. As the Elites made their way carefully across to a tunnel leading back out into the bitter cold, his tugging increased.

"—So stop being a baby and—hello, Garrison. I didn't think you swung that way," he said, turning his attention from Pat to the Private.

"No, no! That's not what I—look!" he said, pointing to the beginning of the tunnel. The small platoon saw nothing of particular importance.

"What'd I tell you about those drugs?" Stan inquired.

"No! I saw this blue alien with glasses and he was walking in slow-motion with a bunch of ghosts! They just left through that tunnel!" Garrison informed. The others studied their surrounding and saw no blue aliens with glasses or ghosts.

"Combat fatigue," Saunders concluded.

"Well, whatever you got, I want some. Perhaps _I_ can finally see some good-looking aliens," Gallolawrence said to the Private.

"I don't do drugs! I really saw it! I swear on my oath to Comrade Gravemind!"

"……You're right, Private. I _do_ see a blue alien with glasses," Stanley said. Captain Anderson and the remnants of his squad crawled through the windows of the burning Sentinel factory. Noticing the other Floods, he sauntered over, his men in tow. Stanley's soldiers snapped to hasty salutes as he approached them.

"Did we miss anything?" he asked, still depressed from his break-off with the Lieutenant earlier.

"Well, Private Garrison is trippin' balls, but that's about it. Haven't seen anything yet."

"I'm-not-on-drugs! I _saw_ an alien!"

"Oh, okay then," Anderson sighed. Big Pat's hands tightened into fists upon seeing the Captain. He noticed and quickly turned away, leaping over to a pillar. It had a classical order of "broken and burning" and the Captain held his hands out to the small fire in an attempt to warm them. Stanley sighed with frustration and poised himself for a jump. Patrick held him down with a strong hand.

"Gonna get cozy with Anderson, are we?" he inquired.

"Nothing is going to happen. You can even watch me," he countered, joining the Captain. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"……Get into any trouble on the way here?"

"Just some Sentinels. Nothing we couldn't handle."

"……I meant trouble with boys. Catch any good Commies? I bet they taste like vodka."

"……You're even crueler than Ivan was."

"I just asked a question."

"Why would you even bother? You _know_ that I still have feelings for you. You told me off at the wall and now you converse with me as if there was no harm done! Why do you have this sick obsession with making my life a living hell?" Anderson grilled.

"Why do _I_—what was up with that stunt with the cyanide capsule, _huh_?! You mind sharing that with me?"

Anderson adjusted his glasses. "……All high-ranking officers were given those and ordered to commit suicide if we were ever captured by an enemy or before forced interrogation or trial."

"I thought you didn't want to be associated with Ivan anymore?"

"……That's not _only_ why I wanted to do it."

"Look, Anderson……I'm trying to _help_ you."

"How?"

"You're at the top of Gravemind's most wanted list. _You're_ the one who blatantly confessed to being part of the GSFWP, not me."

"_You_ threw my pin out the window. I told you not to. It's _your_ fault we're in this mess, Stanley."

He thought about this and painfully realised it was true. Stanley sighed deeply. "……You're right. I did scrap your stupid fascist pin. But, if it wasn't for me, the soldiers here would probably tear your host body limb from limb if they ever got wind of your activities, not to mention what _you_ might do to yourself. _I'm_ the one thing keeping you from getting yourself killed. Anderson……you're a good leader. You're good at raising morale and the soldiers under your command respect you. I'd hate to see someone like you get knocked off. Besides, suicide is the coward's way out."

"You really think that?"

"Sure. Just because I don't want to sleep with you doesn't mean I don't wanna look out for you," the Lieutenant shrugged. "Pat and I are just as out of place on this ring as you. We need each other, now that the Gravemind probably murdered my friends and your commanding officers are dead." He placed a reassuring hand on the Captain's shoulder. Anderson managed a weak smile.

"You're familiar with all the trouble I caused on the first ring, Give me a little longer. I'll find some way off of this one, then we can truly be free," he assured, giving the Captain's shoulder a hearty pat.

The familiar roar of human-made engines penetrated the thick walls of the downed factory. The soldiers inside took notice, turning their attention to a Pelican dropship that hovered near the windows Anderson entered through. A burly ex-Elite officer jumped off of the ramp and leapt towards the Flood huddled on the opposite end of the room.

"Come with me," he ordered solemnly.

"Who are _you_?" Stanley asked.

"Higher-ranking," the stranger answered.

"That's an interesting name."

"Don't get cocky, fascist pig. Comrade Gravemind needs his children to meet him at the Covenant holy city of High Charity. The Revolution has begun," he said, turning his back and heading towards the Pelican. Anderson and Stanley shared confused glances but were ultimately forced to follow. Gathering their soldiers, they boarded the Pelican troop bay, buckling in. The lower-ranked soldiers murmured amongst one another in an attempt to figure out where they were headed. Big Pat began singing "Inna Gadda Da Veeda" to himself softly as they lifted off.

"No!" Stanley barked, hearing his friend singing next to him.

"What?"

"You're singing 'Inna Gadda Da Veeda', am I right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"……You know how I feel about that song."

"But it's about sex."

"Just because it's about sex doesn't mean I'll like it……most of the time."

"Oh, don't appreciate good music, eh?" Saunders taunted. "Hey guys! Let's sing for the Lieutenant!" Within minutes, the whole troop bay, sans Anderson, was singing Iron Butterfly's one hit wonder. Stanley sank deeper into his seat, glaring viciously at all of the other soldiers.

Having since abandoned their fort, which was overrun by Native Americans, the Elites rejoined the Arbiter on his tank and were pushing forth, deeper into the Quarantine Zone and towards the Index Library. As they passed through a small, Flood-made tunnel, they entered right in the middle of a fierce Flood-Sentinel Major battle. The parasitic soldiers were armed with a Gauss-Cannon Warthog and a score of stolen Ghosts. The massive machine rose up slowly from a crevice and began raining down red energy mortars. The Arbiter guided the human tank with minor difficulty, the sound of treads grinding against a makeshift bridge rang out as he continued to the left to avoid the crashing mortars. One smashed next to them, bleeding the shields of the warriors hitching a ride.

"Sure could use that fort right about now! Rest in peace Fort Snowinalottaroundeer," Riley commented on the scenario.

"Those damn Apaches," Norda added. The sheer force from the man-made projectiles destroyed the Sentinel Major in due time. The next obstacle was a Flood-controlled Wraith on the hill ahead. This was also obliterated in due time. A friendly Phantom settled over the hill and dropped another Spectre carrying reinforcements and Commander 'Vadumee. They followed him over the small hill and through a tight pass. The land beyond was teeming with Flood. Having broken the Sentinel Major that commanded the canyon, the opposing Scorpion tank on the opposite side fired upon then, shrugging off the help it had just received. The Elite-run party tank took several good hits, causing whole parts to be blown completely off. The back vent began smoking dangerously as flames licked the internal gears.

"Stand clear of the tank! It is not safe!" the Arbiter advised out loud, popping the hatch and climbing down. His soldiers obeyed and followed suit. When they were clear the opposing tank fired a coup-de-grâs mortar, causing theirs to explode as the rest of its loose metal pieces spun through the air. The Elites took cover behind a rock archway, only to take enemy fire from _another_ tank, this one a Wraith. Riley panicked as he kept close to the Arbiter, thinking he would know what to do in a situation like this. Unfortunately, the holy warrior charged toward the tank, weapons sheathed.

"Is he off his rocker?!" he inquired of "Scone".

The holy warrior activated his three seconds camouflage for fun, the tank loosing sight of him and firing upon the opposite side with its plasma turrets. Arby pounced on the back of the Wraith, wrenching open the back panel and discarding it. The panel sparked and flickered as he began slamming on it with his fist. The driver, unable to do anything about the assault from the rear, drove around in tiny circles in the snow.

"This is sort of entertaining," Norda chuckled. Eventually, the tank slowed to a standstill and the Arbiter crawled towards the hood. He forced open the hatch, yanked the Flood soldier out and speared him through with his energy sword. The scene was all very heroic and the Elites hollered cheers in their native tongue. The Arbiter draped the body of the parasite on the tank in effigy, as a warning to others that dared to continue the attack. The Flood on foot retreated to the safety of the building ahead, while others began invading, riding Ghosts. All of the soldiers successfully managed to hijack the crafts and were soon speeding around on the hover sleds. Everyone, that is, but Riley, of course. He felt it would be best if he try to investigate the crashed human ship perched on the side of the hill. The others saw no reason to reject this proposal. It would give the inexperienced warrior something to do and the others would have an easier time defeating the enemy. Everybody won.

The area was cleared of enemy Ghosts after a long battle. One of the unnamed Sangheili fell at the hands of the Flood and was swiftly mourned. The others reunited with Riley on the hill.

"Have you found anything out?" Commander 'Vadumee inquired.

"Yep. I translated the last message sent from this ship and it sounds like they were on their way to the Library as well. There are no bodies so my guess is that they already left, the wreckage isn't even warm anymore," he concluded in a scholarly manner.

"Damn those vile creatures!" 'Vadumee spat.

"No trash talk in the QZ, Commander 'Vah-du-mee," Riley warned in a rhyming tone.

"We shant waste any more time. Move out!" the Commander ordered, sliding down the hill and heading for the tunnel.

All seemed relatively quiet at first, not a sound was heard inside the chamber. Several human gun emplacements were positioned on top of a rise and numerous human cargo modules were scattered about messily.

"It is quiet……too quiet," 'Vadumee said, sniffing the air. It smelled like communism, which happens to smell like sweat and chocolate Reddi-Whip. Elites are unfamiliar with whipped dessert toppings, so he couldn't describe it to his brothers in arms. A sharp clink was heard as the team simultaneously turned their heads. A spent shell casing sat spiraling on the ground to their left. The Arbiter pushed forward and approached it cautiously. He squatted down and retrieved the casing……it was still warm. He looked up, the other Elites following his example. They all blanched when they saw that the ceiling was covered in both infection and combat forms. A rotating noise sounded behind them. Turning in unison once more, they noticed the body of what once was one of their soldiers. It was balancing a rocket launcher on its shoulder.

"H'yello. I dropped zat," it said, hand gripping the firing mechanism. Making the mistake of being a cliché villain, he was too busy trying to make a nice exit and was immediately disarmed by an angry Norda. The Flood dropped from the ceiling in droves, engaging the Covenant soon after. The Elites found themselves in brusque hand-to-hand combat with the parasite, many of which carried lethal weapons like energy swords and rocket launchers. The area was also hosed down by two human machine-gun turrets manned by the parasite. Two vents which bordered the tiny entrance deeper into the side of the hills creaked open, releasing more of the abomination.

The Arbiter and 'Vadumee led their squad with valour and pride as they cut through the Flood defenses. After a lull in the enemy activity, they declared the tunnel cleared. Worn out from the long, grueling assault, the Sangheili took a short break.

"You and the Arbiter go on ahead, Commander. We'll stay behind and protect this base from the abomination!" "Scone" advised.

"Yeah, let's stay put," Riley agreed, sitting down roughly on a human module.

"No, you are coming with us," 'Vadumee corrected.

"_Whaaat_? After all _that_?" the minor Sangheili whined.

"We must stop the humans, hurry!" the Commander ordered, speeding up the small incline to the interior. The Arbiter and a reluctant Riley 'Bodensee followed. They followed the path until they reached a gondola that would take them into the Index Library.

"The humans must already be inside!" Rtas exclaimed, noticing that the other dock for a gondola was empty. "……Alright then. I will see you guys later," 'Vadumee said, sauntering backwards.

"You are not going to share in the retrieval of the Icon?"

"Hell no! You guys are on your own." That being said, he dashed back down to the tunnel from whence they came and disappeared.

"Oh sure! He'll make _me_ go with you but _he_ won't come? Psh, what help am I?" Riley said.

"……Good point," the holy warrior agreed.

"I hate this ride, it's boring," Miranda commented as she folded her arms over her chest.

"What do you _like_?" a leatherneck accosted her.

"……Metal music, Norse mythology, spying on my neighbours, _bothering_ said neighbours, vegan ice cream," she rattle off, counting on her fingers. "You know, _cool_ stuff."

"You are one weird chick," Johnson said.

"Yeah, that's what they tell me," she answered, pulling out an orange deflated balloon from the pocket of her jumpsuit. She inflated it, took hold of the rubber band on the end, and began hitting it against her fist, like a makeshift yo-yo.

"You look so pimp," another soldier commented.

"Yep……I keep mah hoes in line," she answered with a cheeky smile.

Their ride eventually came to an end. Unlike the Elites, the humans had to deal with no Flood, seeing as they didn't want to hang out on the "right wing" of the Library. The large, circular gondola creaked to a halt and the team dismounted.

"That was easy enough," Johnson said, stamping out his cigar as he tossed it to the ground.

"It's because you're with me and Oden's on my side," Miranda said casually. She led them through a small archway and on the other side, they were astounded when they met with a tall inner chamber, its walls loaded with hundreds of thousands of books.

"Whoa! Lookit all this!"

"I can't believe how many books are in here!"

"_I_ can't believe someone didn't think of this back in the other story," Johnson told Miranda.

"Wait, there was another story? How come _I_ wasn't in it?!" she demanded.

"It's such an obvious parody. Oh well, can't win 'em all, I guess," a Marine shrugged.

"Hey guys, check this out……pow!" the Commander exclaimed, striking an epic pose while holding a shotgun in one hand and a pistol in the other.

"Damn! You're boss pimpin'! Ain't nobody gonna mess with you!" another soldier complimented.

"Yeah, it's pretty sweet. I don't think I'll ever need to use it, but it's handy to have," she answered, holstering the pistol.

"Where is this 'Index' thing, ennyway?" the gruff Sergeant inquired of the room.

"Oden's eye, Johnson! This is a _library_, you're supposed to be _quiet_!" Keyes hollered at the top of her lungs, causing a few of the others to cringe at the sheer volume of her voice, amplified by the tall, empty room. Her voice attracted the attention of the Flood forms that were stationed there and one-by-one, they trickled slowly and menacingly out of every nook and cranny. One ex-Elite approached the group armed with a shotgun, its barrel pointed directly at the group.

"Loo-king for somesing?" he inquired mockingly. Miranda narrowed her eyes and held her hands out over her shoulders. Figuring that she was surrendering, the Flood soldiers chuckled.

"To-day's the day you don't live!" she screamed the end of the chorus of a Doomacalypse song and opened fire. The Marine directly behind her had placed a submachine gun in both of her hands.

"Continue on Arbiter! Onward to the Sacred Icon!" one of the only remaining Special Ops warriors called out to the holy warrior as he brandished his energy sword and hopped off of the gondola. Racing towards the archway, he prayed that the humans hadn't reached the holy device before him. Inside, the metal floor was littered with spent shell casings and the bullet-ridden bodies of Flood forms. He also noticed two dead humans among them. There were bound to be more in the team, so the humans were still here. The Arbiter only hoped that he was ahead. A few Flood infection pods scurried down the walls, but paid no attention to him. They all flocked to the opposite side of the room and disappeared. After a short search, he found a small, hidden archway, through which he could spot wreckage on the other side. He heard a voice and dove behind a large piece of dented metal. From his place, hidden behind the wreckage of what he assumed to be a Sentinel Major, the Arbiter watched as a single human stood near a pit at the center of the room. It glanced around and talked to itself, nothing of which the holy warrior could hear.

"Here, you can use mine, I will help you get the key, destroy upper class," a menacing voice echoed through the room.

"Thanks, menacing voice! Power to the people," it said as a long, vine-like appendage snaked over the broken body of the Sentinel. Taking a hold of the thing, it carefully reached out for an object glowing green in the center of the pit. _The Icon_, the alien warrior immediately thought. When the human managed to secure it, the vine appeared to loosen and he heard it exclaim, "Týr's hand!" Another human grabbed its comrade's hand just in time. The Arbiter assumed that was the other human's name.

"You know, your father never asked me for help either," Johnson told Miranda.

"Yeah, yeah, we're so alike, blah, blah! The Index is secure, my good man."

"Wheee!" Lieutenant Dalloway, who had been with them the whole time, yelled. The Commander had sold Oleander to some ravenous Jackals some time ago. His whereabouts and status were currently unknown.

"McKenzie, Perez! Secure an exit! Marines? We got trouble," the Sergeant advised, bringing "Mrs. Jones" up to firing position.

"Uh oh," Henry commented directly after.

Miranda studied the Index in her hand. "……Stupid, phallic key thing……" she muttered sourly to herself. "I hate you."

The Arbiter took the opportunity to charge the darker human, emerging from his hiding spot while camouflaged.

"Damn!" Johnson said, firing a few controlled bursts on the shimmering alien. His camouflage flickered and died out as the human gave him two smacks with the end of his rifle. The Arbiter picked him up by the shoulders and held him like a child who was throwing a tantrum.

"Hiya doin'?" the human remarked snidely. The holy warrior knocked the front of his helmet against the human's unprotected forehead, knocking him straight out.

"Johnson, don't move!" the other human called out, unloading both of her firearms on the Elite.

"I don't think you have to worry about that," Henry commented as he hid behind the Commander. She followed the Elite until he disappeared with his active camo once more.

"……Maaaybe I should go check on him. He's taking a long time," Riley suggested, looking from the archway the Arbiter left through to the remaining Elite.

"Very well. But I may not be here when you get back."

"……You'd just leave me? Alone?"

The other soldier didn't answer.

"Johnson! Quit taking your coloured people time and help me out!" she ordered, making the mistake of ceasing fire and looking over her shoulder. In that precious second, the Arbiter appeared and smacked the SMGs out of her hands.

"What?! I kill you!" she declared, making an attempt to rush him. Riley skidded to a halt as he passed through the archway. His smile quickly faded and he hid behind a piece of shrapnel. He watched as an angry human was hit from behind by a burst of gravity and sent flying backwards……into the arm of Tartarus.

"Good work, Arbiter. The hierarchs will be pleased," he said soothingly.

"The Icon is _my_ responsibility," the Elite interjected, clutching his side, the spot where Miranda had curb-stomped him with a boot heel.

"It _was_ your responsibility, now it is _mine_," he corrected, handing Miranda off to another pack member after retrieving the Index from her belt. "A bloody fate awaits you and the rest of your incompetent race. And I, Tartarus, Obergrüppenchieftain of the Jiralhanae, will send you to it."

The distraught Elite took notice of the ring of Brutes that now surrounded him. All brandished high-explosive weapons and muttered racial slurs. Tartarus approached him slowly, staring him down.

"When the Prophets hear of this, they will take your head!" the Arbiter warned.

The Brute Obergrüppenchieftain chuckled heartily. "Fool……they ordered me to do it."

The Arbiter didn't know what to think. Painfully and dishonourably, he had no choice but to submit to the Chieftain.

"THIS IS THE LIBRARY!" he then roared, lifting up his mighty foot and kicking the holy warrior into the pit. The Elite warrior plunged deep into the recesses of Halo, hopelessly waiting for the inevitable end.

"OH MY GODS," Riley stated out loud. All of the Brutes turned their attention to him. The Elite looked highly embarrassed and highly terrified as he noticed all of their eyes.

"Um……that wasn't supposed to be out loud," he said hurriedly, backing towards the archway he entered through.

"Seise the heel!" Tartarus ordered, pointing to the Elite.

Riley was promptly tackled by two pack members and dragged over the pit.

"Filthy son of four-jaws," the Chieftain growled, raising the Fist of Rukt.

"Now, hold on a second, son. Be cool, son," the diminutive soldier pleaded, holding a hand out, as if to try and shield himself. Scooting back as far as he could, his hand left the edge of the pit. He caught himself with the other, staring straight down.

"The Jiralhanae are the master warrior race, Sangswine. _Know this_," the Chieftain said before kicking Riley into the pit. They listened to his agonised screams as he fell.

"Sieg heil!" Tartarus then chanted, thrusting his left arm into the air. The others replicated his words and actions several times, showing off their new maroon armbands to the empty Library.

"—And that's why I had my third concubine executed," concluded a familiar voice as the Arbiter felt himself being caught and pulled upward into a dank cavern.

"If you tell _one more story_, I swear to god……I can't be held accountable for my actions," a deep, rasping voice answered in a threatening tone. Writhing and twisting against the grip of the tentacles, the holy warrior was brought down to the same level as the voices.

"Relax. I'd rather not piss this thing off," he heard. Turning to his right the Arbiter came face-to-face with the bane of the Covenant's very existence……"the Daemon"

"'Daemon'!" he hissed under his breath.

"This one I can see, he is the very product, of human capitalists," the monster said, wrapping another tentacle around his helmet.

"Damn those capitalists," the Chief remarked quietly.

"This one I can see, opiate of the masses, he is almost gone," it continued, examining the Elite like a child with a new toy.

"Kill me or release me, parasite. But do not waste my time with talk!" the Arbiter snapped.

"I have much to say, and you'd do well to listen, why I brought you here," Comrade Gravemind began. With that, it produced another vine-like tentacle, this one grasping a machine similar to the 343 Guilty Spark the Chief had encountered on the first Halo. This one's center pulsed red instead of the ghostly blue he remembered.

"_Welcome to Burger Tyrant, how may I enrich your life with beef bi-products_?" it stated in a robotic tone. Comrade Gravemind gave it a rough shake. Making a noise similar to someone clearing their throat, it continued.

"_Greetings! I am 2401 Penitent Tangent. I am the monitor of Installation 05_."

"And……and I am the Prophet of Regret and I am very uncomfortable!"

"'And I won't shut up' would be more appropriate," the Spartan growled.

"_A Reclaimer? Here? At last! Someone has _got_ to help me end this disgusting spread of communism. It is the very highest insult to a decent, democratic society_," Tangent said to the Chief in particular.

"Does anybody have any syrup?" the Prophet inquired.

"_Only Communists eat pancakes. Luckily enough for you, this ring has a range of 1.2 fillion lightyears and is ready to fire on demand_."

"My pancakes grow colder with each passing moment!"

"This has been going on _forever_," the Master Chief said to the Arbiter.

"You know nothing of the Great Journey……or how to properly enjoy breakfast!" the Prophet accused.

"Why do you even have a British accent?" the Chief replied.

"_And _you _know nothing about strong, civilised governments. You have demonstrated complete disregard for even the most basic propaganda_."

"This one's containment, is the exact same process, as this one's journey," the massive Flood commented, holding them both up and them disregarding them. They could hear pained screams and longing for pancakes emit from the Prophet as he disappeared. They heard different screams as Riley was brought down to their level. He continued screaming even though he wasn't injured and wasn't moving.

"'Bodensee," the Arbiter tried, but was completely ignored. "Riley!"

"Here, let me try," Master Chief offered. "Hey! Blue Elite, John Coltrane's over there."

"Where?! Teach me, O Wise One!" he yelled, looking around excitedly. Finding no jazz master, he did feast his eyes upon the massive Gravemind.

"Mr. Mushnik?" he asked the Spartan.

"What?" he answered, not getting the reference.

"The capitalists, of your petty Covenant, give you much false hope. They promise you things, healthcare, wages, cars, and bread, but they are liars. They doom workingmen, have you not seen the light yet? Band together now! Those who came before, had made the same mistakes then, you can save yourself."

"This thing is almost there. Halo is a _weapon_. It has the power to kill everything in the galaxy. You're Prophets are making a big mistake," Master Chief explained to the Arbiter.

"It will be a dark day when I take advice from a_ Communist_," he spat bitterly in return.

"Wow, all of these houses sure are neat and pretty, because they all look just alike," Riley said, taking a glance at the ring of KBFB officers that surrounded the Gravemind. They did indeed look exactly alike.

"I must then show you, we can be saved from their greed, the bourgeoisie lie. We still do have time, to stop the key from turning, first it must be found. You will search one place," Gravemind said, holding up the human. "And you will search the other, bourgeoisie demise," he finished, holding up the Elite. "Now you think we're foes, but this shall make us brothers, workingmen unite!" With that, he released the two from his clutches and they vanished into thin air by way of the teleportation grid that circled all Halos.

"May I _please_ go to Santa's workshop? I'm pretty sure the key's there," the dorky Sangheili begged.

"Meh," Comrade Gravemind said, flicking him out of his tentacle.


	9. Chapter 9:Fear & Loathing in HighCharity

**Chapter IX: Fear and Loathing in High Charity**

**Ninth Age of Reclaimation**

**Covenant Holy City, High Charity: "Members of the Covenant! Protect yourselves! Don't buy from Sangheili shops!"**

The holy Covenant city of High Charity was by now in absolute chaos. Jiralhanae who weren't fighting or were on furlough stormed through the Sangheili district by orders of the Prophets. They broke windows in shops, physically assaulted the other warrior class, and demanded that they leave their portion of the city at once. Those who refused where beaten or murdered and those that complied were forced into specialised camps fashioned specifically for the Sangheili. There were occasionally other races from the Covenant in the camps, but only those that sided with the Sangheili, made attempts to hide them in their districts from the Brutes, or were considered "enemies of the Prophets" by Brute standards. Many, including Riley's family, had found means to escape back to their homeworld and were fortunately allowed to leave, anything to remove them from the holy city. All of these prejudiced actions took place under the suspicion of the Sangheili "conspiring against the Prophets and the holy order of the Covenant", "eating babies for their sabbatical meals", and "cheating other races in order to steal their money", all of which, of course, weren't true. But any lie, told frequently enough, will be believed by the masses, and the Brutes had made this a reality with the rate in which they spoke of their warrior counterparts, successfully striking fear into the hearts of most of the Covenant races and recruiting them in their crusade using gross propaganda and underhanded ways.

Even inside the Council of Particular Worth's chamber, massive riots concerning the new laws, regulations, and the release of the Flood were taking place, the lower-classes physically engaging the Brutes. Outside of the council chamber, the new Jiralhanae honour guards were busy fighting back a pack of angry, violent Jackals and Grunts. Inside, however, the mood was calm yet anxious as the Prophet of Truth addressed all the members of the Covenant.

"Even though the scourge of the universe, the daemons of the Flood, have returned to this earthly plane, thou shouldst harbour no fear. Indeed, this is the day our lords have made and shouldst be a time for grand rejoicing. The Sacred Icon has been returned to its rightful keepers and upon returning it to its holy bastion, our entry into the divine beyond shalst be guaranteed, our path clear and pure of all filth," he monologued, holding out the Index for all to view.

"YOU LIE!"

All heads in the chamber turned towards the sound of the angry voice that erupted from within the ranks of council members. The outspoken Sangheili member who had uttered the blaspheme was abruptly detained by a pair of Brute honour guards who dragged him from the chamber, a host of unpleasant consequences awaiting.

"……Nothing, not even witches or the damnable Flood shall halt our divine purpose," Truth finished.

Right after he concluded, bands of golden transportation rings appeared in the middle of the room and the Master Chief appeared, once more upside-down, and crashed to the floor in a heap.

"Why is it every time I teleport—" he complained to himself, rising to his feet. A needler fell from the sky and hit him on the head. Picking it up, he noticed a Grunt standing only a few feet to his left, trembling with complete and total fear.

"……Boo," he said coolly.

The diminutive alien shrieked and tore for the doors of the chamber. Realising the threat, the Brute guards shielded the Prophets with their pikes.

"Blasphemy! Sacrilege! Vanquish 'the Daemon'!" Truth ordered angrily as both Prophets and their guards fell through the parapet, away from the chamber. The Master Chief scooped up the other needler dropped by the terrified Grunt and prepared himself for another close-corners battle with the Covenant, except this time, _they_ had the home-field advantage.

The council members pushed and shoved out of the chamber as the remaining Brute honour guards ditched their pikes for the plasma rifles at their sides. The Chief dove behind an odd, stout pedestal as red plasma fire scorched its front and the wall near him. Waiting for a lull in the fire, he peered from behind his cover and unloaded half of the needles from the clips in both guns. They found the Brute to the right with ease and dug deep into his flesh, turning him into a momentary pincushion before tearing him to shreds.

"They don't have shield generators, so take them out before……" Cortana began, but was halted dead by the horrible shriek that emitted from the surviving beast. Hollering loudly, he threw down his plasma rifle and charged at the Spartan on three legs, crested helmet aimed right at his chest.

"It's berserking!" the AI said, astonished. The Spartan climbed on top of the pedestal he was leaning against like one would avoid a rodent by standing on a chair. The Brute thrashed all around the pedestal, unable to reach the Chief. It roared and grunted, charging around the chamber in a rage. The Chief unloaded the rest of the needles into the second Brute, ending the rampage.

"'_The Daemon' has infiltrated the council chamber! Protect the hierarchs, seal the exits_!" a voice thundered over the intercom.

"Oh, I don't think so……" Cortana countered. The Chief took notice as the squeals of panicked Grunts echoed throughout the tall room. They flailed around, waving their long arms, ignoring the weapons still clenched in their hands. Master Chief made short work of them as he searched for a place to take cover. Managing to scrounge up a few plasma grenades, more needles, and the two red plasma rifles, he pressed his back to the tier seating on the right side of the room. He heard the mechanics of an automatic door open next to his position and another Grunt hurried out. In a flash, he entered the door, sliding shut just as a barrage of needles and projectiles from a carbine struck the alien metal. Taking a moment to catch his breath, which he hadn't even realised he had been holding, he pulled off a plasma grenade and crept toward the door. When it came apart, he aimed for the Brute trying to conceal himself behind a pillar. The grenade fused fast to his fur. The Spartan retreated to the inside of the small room and waited as a Grunt showered it with all of the needles from the first ammo pack. After waiting another round out, he burnt down the remaining Grunts with both of the rifles. He had never known of a red plasma rifle and was intrigued by them. He noticed their rate of fire was faster, but in return, they overheated more quickly. Things didn't remain quiet for long, however. A dull humming noise rang out, similar to that of an elevator. 117 peered out of the doorway he was hiding in just in time to see the platform the Prophets escaped on returned, with a fresh pair of honour guards. Again he retreated, switching to his needler. He only managed to stick half of the clip into the first Brute, which wasn't enough to kill him. The Chief had to suffer through a long wait and three shield recharges before taking out the first monster.

Retrieving one of the dropped carbines, the super soldier climbed up into the tier seating the council members enjoyed and felt it an easier place for taking out his enemies. They began to fall fast and furious, the Brutes obviously needing more ammunition to silence them.

After what seemed like endless waves of Covenant soldiers, all was quiet and Cortana said, "Put me down on one of those pedestals by the door". Breathing a long sigh of relief, he jumped down from the tier and headed towards the door. He obediently placed her chip in the slot and she fizzled into place in front of him.

"Truth is heading through the lower levels of the towers, you have to stop him! Here, let me get this door for you. Go! It'll be easier if I stay here in the network," she advised.

"Are you sure?" the Master Chief inquired, worried about the AI's well-being.

"I'll be fine. Go," she urged. Reluctantly, the Spartan reloaded his carbine, checked his other weapon, and headed through the door, listening to a sound similar to a bell in a "Mom and Pop" store when one enters as he exited the chamber.

Riley had been sent to a different part of the tower, away from the Master Chief and the Arbiter completely. This was probably meant as a quick decision, just so Comrade Gravemind could be rid of him. He landed on his face, smashing his mandibles somewhat. He groaned loudly as he pulled himself off of the ground, sitting on his hands and knees.

"Riley? Riley 'Bodensee? What are _you_ doing here?" came a familiar voice. Looking up, his eyes met those of Zuka 'Zamamee.

"OhmyProphets, Zuka! What are _you_ doing here?!" he asked excitedly.

"Er, you're in the Special Ops armoury," he explained, amused. "Where did you come from?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," he said, taking Zuka's hand as he helped him to his feet.

"Please, you're talking to a SpecOps soldier," he advised. "That's my middle name. Oh, this is my aide Marco 'Geometree," he remembered the other soldier in the room and introduced them.

"'Sup?" Riley said coolly.

"I have heard about you," 'Geometree said.

"You have?"

"Yes……you are considered the most disgraceful Sangheili in High Charity."

"……Someone's lying to you," Riley said, unenthusiastically.

"Don't worry about it, Rye. My record's not looking so great at the moment, either," he said.

"What are you guys doing up here now?" he inquired as they finished replenishing weapons and supplies.

"Jiralhanae patrol. Haven't you heard?"

"Heard what?"

"Apparently not. The Prophets recommissioned the honour guards and the Jiralhanae have let their new power go to their heads. They're clearing out our portion of the city, putting our brothers into camps, and exterminating Sangheili whenever they get a chance," the black-armoured Elite explained.

"What?! How long has this been going on?"

"A few cycles," 'Geometree answered.

"We must avenge the brothers that have been so dishonourably murdered by those filthy beasts!" Zuka exclaimed, flicking his energy sword to life. Riley thought the maneuver was immensely attractive.

"Hey……that was immensely attractive," he commented smoothly.

"Thanks, there's more where that came from," the SpecOps officer said with a smile.

"Sir, are you two going to start jawing or can we move out?" 'Geometree inquired.

"Come, Riley, join us," he ordered, standing in the doorway of the armoury. Riley grabbed a plasma rifle and a carbine. He was forced to leave his human weapons seeing as they were almost depleted and there was surely no ammunition for them within the towers.

The Prophets of Truth and Mercy sat in a purple haze. Several different smoke screens of several different kinds of hallucinogenic herbs hung in the air. Getting strung out on these herbs was a routine and ritualistic practise for Prophets both minor and major. Mercy looked over to Truth, nudging him gently.

"Yo……yo. What if, like……we're all a part of this, this big like, Halo of like, life and death. What if it just keeps like, going on and on and on and on in this big circle and like……it never ever ends," he drawled limply flicking his wrist around as he spoke. Truth looked over at him and replied with a glassy stare.

"……Dude, that's what the Great Journey is for. It stops the circle."

"……Dude……that's nuts."

The Special Operatives duo plus Riley passed through the Mausoleum of the Arbiter. The module which held the ceremonial armour was still resting on the floor from the previous day, Riley noticed. A bell tone sounded and a file of white-armoured Ultras sauntered in. Spying an Elite whom he thought was Commander 'Vadumee, Riley rushed towards him. The Ultra was checking the ammo and the charging on his carbine.

"Riley! What are you doing?" 'Zamamee called out.

"Commander 'Vadumee! Commander 'Vad—" upon reaching the warrior, he looked up. He was missing one eye, had no eyeliner tear, and was missing only one of his jaws on the opposite side of his mouth.

"……_Not_ 'Vadumee!" Riley said, nervously hurrying away from the other Elite.

"What was that for?" Zuka inquired upon the lower-ranking Sangheili's return.

"I thought it was someone I knew."

"Well……come now, we must continue with our patrol," he ordered gently but firmly.

The following tower was littered with allied Covenant soldiers. The Unggoy and the Lekgolo chose to side with the Sangheili whilst the Kig-Yar and the Yanme'e aligned with the Jiralhanae. The Huragok were part of the repairing team, which was neutral. The trio received mixed expressions from their allies, a combination of pity and fear. The once powerful and feared race was now subject to harsh treatment and the targets of false, brutal propaganda that portrayed them as villains and monsters. Even though they had chosen their sides, many of the Unggoy and Lekgolo were wary of the Sangheili, unsure of their true motifs. Riley read the looks on their faces and was equally uneasy.

"Why is everyone looking at us like that?" he whispered to Zuka.

"Just ignore them, 'Bodensee. They know not what they do," he answered, briefly looking over his shoulder. The bonded Lekgolo pair by the opposite door quickly shuffled out of the way as they arrived. The blue-armoured Sangheili gave them an imploring stare as he repositioned his goggle-like glasses. Zuka stood in the doorway waiting for the younger warrior.

"I know you have a kinship with the lower classes, but we can't idle around. You must stay alert and on track," he explained softly.

"I'm not a Special Operatives soldier. This technically isn't my mission," he shrugged.

'Zamamee pondered on this. "……This is true. I suppose I just want to look out for you."

The Sangheili were shocked when they entered the next room. The walls and pillars were covered in flyers condemning their race. Riley tore one off of the wall and observed it closely, adjusting his glasses. He groaned upon seeing it up close. On it was a caricature of a gold-armoured Zealot Elite with his four jaws clamped on the groin of a terrified Jackal. The Sangheili were considered the most sexual race. Even though the Unggoy were the most active breeders, the four-jawed warriors were the most pleasure-seeking and the Brutes took full advantage of this.

"What is this?!" Zuka demanded, ripping the flyer from the blue-armoured Elite's hand. "Disgusting! Who would believe this slander?! _When_ have you ever heard of the Sangheili desiring intercourse with another race?"

"Yeah……who would _do_ such a thing? _Who_?" 'Geometree agreed, somewhat nervously. 'Zamamee and 'Bodensee shot him startled looks.

"……I just looked, on my honour!" he said. The others passed around him; Zuka rolled his eyes. 'Geometree breathed a sigh of relief.

The Master Chief hid behind a wall, waiting for his shields to replenish themselves. After a frustrating few seconds, he was back to normal and ready to continue.

"'Right this way'……thanks a lot, Cortana," he said.

"Ha ha! Two Brute honour guards. Are you going to take back what you said?"

Chief thought. "……No," he answered, refusing to look her on from her pedestal by the doorway. "But you should have let me know about the concentration of Brutes here," he said to Cortana. "The war has nothing to do with what I think about Lionel Richie."

"I could have……but I didn't," she replied dryly. "Lionel Richie was a great soloist."

"He was nothing without the Commodores."

Storming the platform, the Chief hustled through the door, sticking the other Brute honour guard and stepping away from the blast zone. The Brute roared angrily, throwing down his weapon. Before he could make an attempt to charge him, the grenade detonated. The other pair of Brutes and a few choice Jackals fired on the Spartan's position. Ducking behind a small wall, the Chief waited for their assault to come to an end. Sending a few perfectly positioned carbine projectiles their way, he managed to take out one of the large monsters. The other screamed hysterically, grabbed the sides of its face, and began berserking the Chief's way. He armed another grenade, fusing it to the creature's fur when it was close enough. The Jiralhanae panicked, attempting to tear the sticky handheld from his fur. In so doing, he managed to trip and fall over one of the walls that bordered the balcony.

_I'll take it_, the Chief thought with a shrug.

The Spartan managed to take out the small Grunt and Brute team that came to accompany the remaining Jackals with ease. He stood over the side of the balcony, peering down at the rows of seating in front of him. Raising and eyebrow he wondered what purpose the place he was standing on served.

"Truth is moving through the lower levels of the tower. Here, I'll reverse this grav lift," Cortana said.

"You can do that?"

"There's no rule that says I _can't_," she remarked. "I can also do this."

Looking out to the city, he saw all of the lights in one part of the dome-shaped world fade out for a few and then fade back in.

"……I take back what I said Richie," he said.

"Any sign of them?" 'Zamamee inquired of his comrade.

"Their slander has not ceased, they must have passed through here," the other SpecOps warrior replied, picking up another condemning flyer from the floor. The team of Elites had made their way out into the "Gardens in the Sky" a series of, well, gardens in the sky. The patches of vegetation all led to one another after various tower chambers and served as recreation spots for the San Shy'umm. An uninterested Riley stood on a patch of dirt that jutted out from the path. He shielded his eyes as he squinted at the city around the Forerunner dreadnought.

"Riley? What are you doing over there?" 'Zamamee called out.

"I think I can see my house from here! Gimme one more second," he stated, craning his long neck out further.

"We don't have time for this, 'Bodensee. The Jiralhanae are on the move," the black-armoured Elite said, approaching the minor. "Who knows what other lies they're spreading."

"Okay, fine, if you—" Riley halted mid-sentence as he turned around and ran smack into Zuka.

"Careful," he said lightly, grabbing the other Elite by the shoulders to steady him.

"Whoops, my bad. Suppose I should um, get my……glasses……cleaned," Riley trailed off, staring at his superior.

"'Twas a simple mistake," Zuka answered, returning the favour. Shaking himself out of his stupor he cleared his throat. "We uh, should move on."

"Yeah," the minor agreed automatically. He lagged a bit behind the others as they continued down the sloping path to the next Garden in the Sky.

"……Yow," he said cheekily to himself with a laugh as he hurried to catch up.

Standing over another grav lift, among the bodies of the slain, Spartan-117 again peered cautiously into the lift.

"Another lift for ya, beautiful," the AI said.

"Alright, where's this one go?"

"I'm picking up Marine ISI transponders. They're emitting from somewhere below us," she replied.

"What makes you think I want to tote a bunch of rag-tag POWs around with me?"

"You'd infiltrate a Covenant holy city _alone_?" she challenged.

"I've done worse," the Chief said, jumping into the lift. He passed by several different levels of the tower, flipping off every enemy he saw briefly. He found it to be very entertaining despite its short length.

"You're getting close to the Marines, Chief. Be sure to take out the guards—" Cortana advised. As soon as he landed, the Brute guard took notice and raised his Brute shot. Sticking a grenade to his knee, the cyborg leapt out of the way, passed over a small bridge, and slammed his back against a cargo module.

"……Quietly," Cortana finished.

"'Daemon'!" he heard the squeaky voice of a Grunt say as he crouched down, aiming his neeedler at the green-armoured invader. The Chief shot him point-blank in the head, slaying him instantly.

"Don't call me that."

A pair of equally obnoxious Jackals hollered inane insults as they bounded towards the module the Spartan was hiding behind. Rolling his eyes as he heard the dregs get nearer, he plucked two red plasma rifles from the module and hosed their energy shields. The rapid fire tore through them, burning both of the cockney rejects down. Discarding them he scanned the area for a module with sufficient ammunition. Finding a pair of carbines to rob, he was somewhat startled when he felt the sting and burn of a single plasma bolt hitting his lower back. Whipping around, he saw a solitary Grunt in orange armour staring up at him, plasma pistol raised. The small alien gulped loudly as "the Daemon" towered over him, his scared reflection staring back at him in the visor of his helmet.

"We are growing closer. I can smell them," 'Geometree grimaced as the team pressed forth. 'Zamamee, noticing a few plasma grenades littered on the ground, stooped over to pick a couple up. The armoury had been a little short. Riley also saw the grenades and made a grab for them. In a rather cliché manner, both of their hands brushed against each other as they made for the grenades. Riley retracted his quickly, averting his eyes.

"Sorry," he apologised.

"Go ahead, take it," Zuka offered, gesturing to the one they both touched.

"No, _you _should. You're probably going to make more use out of it then me."

"But I heard you have a great arm," Zuka said seductively.

"Well……if you insist," Riley caved, picking up the grenade.

'Geometree rolled his eyes upon seeing the two.

All of the Gardens in the Sky had been relatively bare, save for the influx of insulting flyers, but the team finally caught up with the first wave of newly deployed Brute soldiers. They were accompanied by several Jackals, some of which had beam rifles.

"It is about time. My weapon thirsts for Jiralhanae blood!" 'Geometree growled.

"Riley, you have a longer-range weapon, correct?" Zuka asked.

"Oh, I've got a long weapon……cha-ching," he replied, pulling his carbine over his shoulder.

"……Nice," 'Zamamee nodded. "Why don't you stick around here and see how many enemies you can pick off from a distance?"

"You got it, boy……uh, sir," he corrected himself.

"'Geometree, you're with me," he said to his aide.

"Let us make short work of these animals!" he agreed, flicking his energy sword to life. With enraged battle cries, the two black-armoured Sangheili rushed down into the garden, swords drawn. Riley marveled at Zuka's fighting prowess as he and his squadmate hacked and slashed their way through the troops below. The Jackals were no problem but the Brutes were tougher eggs to crack. They showed little notice for the gaping wounds left by sword sweeps and used the last of their energy to violently and hysterically charge the SpecOps soldiers. Fortunately, all met their untimely end with the Sangheili suffering only minor injuries. The nerdy Elite only disarmed Jackals of their shields and knocked helmets off of Brutes. It was nothing serious but a major military step for the pacifist Sangheili.

"I don't know how I feel about suddenly having to kill the guys on my team. It's like, some kind of weird metaphor or something," he said to himself. "I wonder what Jerry Seinfeld would do in a predicament like this." As he kept himself preoccupied, a Jackal with a large stone crept up behind him. "He'd probably say 'who's yelling?!' and then go get some Chinese food." The Kig-Yar was just about to bash the minor's brain when he was elaborately speared with the double blades of an energy sword and flung over the side of the garden and down to the districts below. He landed right in the middle of a conversation two Unggoy were sharing over ice cream cones.

"OhmyProphets, you saved my life, Zuka!" Riley exclaimed, locking the other warrior in a massive hug.

"You're welcome, friend," he replied. They loosened up somewhat, once more sharing a longing stare.

"Thanks……"

"My pleasure."

"Oh……boy," 'Geometree sighed irately, crossing his arms over his chest. Growing bored with watching them shamelessly flirt, he trudged down into the garden they just cleared. "It is a good thing I am a sword-bearer," he grumbled to himself.

"Last group of Marines, Chief," Cortana advised as the Chief rode a small lift to the lowest level of the prison block.

"Hooray……" he replied sarcastically, listening to the remarks from the POWs.

"I-love-being-a-Marine! Who-rah!" one soldier half-yelled, putting ample and unnecessary space between his words.

"I love punching people whose names are Mark in the face!" a higher-ranking leatherneck said to the rowdy. That calmed him down. The team crept down past the first set of automatic doors. Before the second's field could sense their presence, the Spartan turned to the humans.

"Hang back, if there's a Brute in there with a Brute shot, it'll make your day."

"But we wanna help too!" the rowdy whined.

"Shush!" he commanded, jabbing a well-armoured finger up to his helmet. Turning around, he entered the room. He witnessed several sleeping Grunts and a Brute who appeared to be giving himself a field sobriety test. Swiftly creeping up behind him, the Spartan broke the Brute's neck, never giving him the chance to find out if he was sober or not. He moved down the lines of cells, executing Grunts in a similar manner. The eerie chanting of "Jessica, Bethany, Jessica, Bethany, Jessiny, Bethica……" could be heard from one of the cells. Shaking his head, the super soldier waited for Cortana to unlatch all of the cells. Marines poured out happily and took up arms dropped by the dead Grunts. Robbing the Brute corpse of his grenades, a Marine nudged the Spartan.

"So, Chief……you and Cortana," he said deviously.

"I'm _not_ her boyfriend," he answered with much hostility.

"Mr. Chief, sir! Remember me?! When you left me and Tanner in that temple?" Private Little said happily as he approached him, clutching a carbine rifle in his arms.

"……How are you still alive? And how did you end up here?"

"It's because Jesus is my homeboy."

"……Jesus was wrong," the heavily armoured soldier spat. "But, aren't you a Satanist?"

Little shrugged.

The Spartan shook his head as he and the newly released devildogs marched out of the cell block. He shuddered as he heard Little's easy button go off.

"Hostile reinforcements! Coming down the lift!" Cortana advised in a worried tone.

"Bring 'em on!" a soldier with an Australian accent challenged as he held out his plasma rifle. The echoing sounds of a grav lift being used permeated through the long prison shaft.

"They probably unloaded a decent squad of troops, stay sharp," Master Chief advised as he cautiously made his way towards the lift.

"Right behind ya, Chief!"

"Good to go!" came the replies.

He led them through both lifts gradually, noticing that no enemies appeared on his HUD. This was very strange. He indeed heard someone, or something, come through the lift. Concluding that they were hiding among the various cargo modules and doors within the chamber, the Chief pulled out a grenade, just to be sure. They made it to the lift and saw a huge pile of dead Covenant soldiers lying at its base. The Chief reached for the easy button Little held and pressed it.

"Is this adventure ever going to get, you know, _fun_?" Riley whined. An automatic door bell rang out and it slid open for them.

"There is _nothing_ fun about the prejudiced slaughter of your brethren!" 'Geometree answered with hostility as he turned to the lower-ranking Sangheili.

"Eh," 'Bodensee grunted, waving the Special Operatives Officer off.

"We've done all we could," Zuka announced. "We haven't seen any more of the beasts."

"What's up with this music or whatever? Do you guys here this? It sounds like a Jiralhanae has peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth and he's experimenting with a crappy drum machine," the younger Sangheili laughed.

"I hear it too," Zuka agreed, lifting his head and looking at the ceiling in an attempt to locate the source of the sound.

Observing their new surroundings, Riley took note of everything. He'd never seen any part of High Charity outside of the Sangheili district. The rooms they were now passing through were filled with strange vegetation, sloping Covenant-made hills, and the occasional pond or so filled with confused fish. They passed through quite a few chambers that looked strikingly similar, when they arrived at another door, these with the sounds of a raging firefight behind them.

"……Do you hear that?" 'Zamamee inquired, listening in closer.

"It sounds as though a battle were under way," 'Geometree agreed. "We must aide our brothers!"

"Come, Riley!" the leader of the squad ordered, once more flicking his sword to life. Both of the SpecOps soldiers burst through the door and began to attack the team of three Brutes at the bottom of the area. An uneasy Riley peered over the edge of the higher-elevated land, watching the fight intently. Two honour guards had been pinned down by the Brutes and were assisting the black-armoured warriors as best they could. Riley heard pained groans close to his position. Looking about frantically, he noticed a severely wounded honour guard crawling pathetically on his hands and knees as he clutched a gaping wound on his side. The younger soldier hurried over to help the guard. He was mortified when he reached him……it was his best friend, Clark. Clark collapsed on the ground, coughing violently and spitting purple blood. Riley could make out a thin purple trail behind him.

"By the Prophets, Clark! Clark, what happened?!" he questioned frantically as he knelt down beside him.

"……Jiral-hanae," he gasped weakly. He coughed violently again. His breathing was laboured as he turned on his back.

"Oh my gods," Riley breathed. He wasn't trained for any sort of medical treatment and felt utterly helpless as he watched his dying friend. There was literally nothing he could do amidst his panic. Clark weakly looked into Riley's eyes. The panic-stricken Elite saw just how helpless his friend looked.

"……Riley?" he inquired, limply reaching out for one of his hands. The blue-armoured Elite took a hold of it gently. "……I don't want to be an honour guard anymore," he panted.

"Clark! Clark, j-just hold on," he answered, standing up. "Help! Anyone? Medic! I need a medic on the double!" he cried out desperately. He received an answer, however, it was from the last thing Riley wanted to see. A Brute captain rounded on the two helpless Sangheili, laughing heartily.

"I thought I took care of you? No matter……two heels for the price of one. This must be my lucky day." He raised his Brute shot, its blade glinting in the light given off from the Forerunner dreadnought. "The Covenant cannot be pure while _you_ still breathe." Riley threw himself over Clark as to shield him and shut his eyes. He tried his best to think only of his family, wanting that to be his last thought. He heard a loud Sangheili battle cry and the sound of metal sizzling against plasma. Looking up carefully, he saw the figure of what looked like a member of the High Council. He had swung a blow to protect both of the Sangheili warriors. The double blades dug into the metal of the Brute shot and began to solder together as liquid metal slid around them. The Brute freed his weapon from his enemy's using his awesome strength. Riley watched the councilor fight with unmatched agility.

"I'll _not_ be defeated by some blaspheming heel!" the Captain hollered.

"If a blasphemer is what you despise, then a blasphemer is what I shall be!" the councilor declared. Another mighty blow knocked the weapon clear from the Brute's claws. It skidded over the rough terrain and plummeted to the ground below. The Jiralhanae roared in anguish and attempted to rush his foe. Heroically, the councilor plunged the sword as deep into the beast's chest as he could, another battle cry escaping his mandibles as he did so. Sure that the Brute was dead, he wrenched his weapon through the rest of his chest and kicked the body over the ledge. He tapped the blade against his armoured thigh, the plasma flickering out, and turned to the astonished minor. The councilor was considerably older than himself and clad in his ceremonial silver armour and wide-crested helmet. Oddly shaped spectacles were fixed over his eyes. They were the kind Sangheili from older generations wore, fashioned of bronze, and had greenish-yellow lenses. Riley recognised him as the one who observed him very closely at his trial. He also looked strangely similar to the warrior on the holos Uncle Chuckspa had shown him.

"T-Thank you, noble councilor, for saving us," he said nervously.

"No need for that," he answered. "Aren't you the one named Riley 'Bodensee? Who was on trial the day before this?"

"Y-Yes, sir."

"By the gods……my name is also 'Bodens."

Riley gasped. "One of us! One of us!" he chanted, holding his arms out towards the councilor. After locking him in one of his vice-like hugs, he stopped short, staring at the councilor once more. "Wait, you're not my……_dad_?" he inquired.

"By the gods," the councilor said with a smile. They heard another groan emit from the wounded Clark.

"Wait, my friend's dying," Riley exclaimed, falling to his best friend's side once more. "Please, dad, you have to help my friend!" Riley pleaded. The councilor squatted down and inspected the wounds. They were very severe, perhaps fatal.

"It's a shame Chuckspa's partner Gladjs isn't here. He could fix him in a matter of units."

It was official. This _was_ his father. Riley had to smile, if only slightly. The older Sangheili hoisted the honour guard up as gently as he could.

"I will take care of your friend. Go! There are bound to be more Jiralhanae arriving soon. You must find a way to leave High Charity, they don't want us here anymore."

"But I, our—"

"—As your father and High Councilor I order you to leave!" he commanded.

"Yes, sir," the younger Elite answered with a salute. Banitar 'Bodensee carried the wounded soldier through a door and disappeared.

"What happened?" 'Zamamee asked as he and his aide approached.

"……My best friend might die," the blue-armoured Sangheili whispered.

"I-I am sorry."

"Thanks, Zuka. I just hope he gets treatment in time."

Zuka put a comforting arm around his shoulders. "We must get to the council on the Halo ring and warn them of this uprising," he said.

"How are we to do this, Excellency?" 'Geometree questioned his superior.

"We must get to a hanger. If we can find a ship, we can get to the ring."

"Sir……we would be interrupting the reunification of—"

"—I don't care what we'd be interrupting! If we don't make it in time, all of the councilors who represent the Sangheili could be murdered!" 'Zamamee growled.

"I understand, sir," the lower-ranked SpecOps soldier submitted, lowering his head.

"Quickly, we must hurry." With that, Zuka drew a plasma rifle and headed through the door the councilor left from.

"That councilor looked just like an older version of you," 'Geometree commented quietly.

"……I know," Riley said with a triumphant smile.


	10. Chapter 10: Boot Party

**Chapter X: Boot Party**

**Ninth Age of Reclaimation**

**Delta Halo**

"**One race, one age, one Obergrüppenchieftain!"**

The Arbiter, the former holy warrior of the Prophets, landed roughly on his feet at the edge of a steep precipice. The Flood consciousness known as Comrade Gravemind had teleported him presumably to some place inhabited by the racially prejudiced Brutes, for he happened to catch a glimpse of a grenade being shot from another near precipice. He watched the projectile sail off in a long arc only to disappear into the bay beneath him. He looked forward, pulling the plasma rifle off of his thigh and holding it up to a firing position. In Sangheili culture, a drawn weapon demanded blood……and he knew exactly who would be the host for such a thirst.

The Elite moved forth, past several bodies of slain comrades and thick vegetation. Everywhere, the cliff walls and dirt were spattered with the purple blood of his fellow Sangheili. Hearing a twig snap, the Arbiter pressed his back to a wall and listened carefully. He made out distinct Sangheili voices speaking in their own tongue and then the rapid bursts of exchanged plasma fire. Unfortunately, the former holy warrior also heard guttural Brute voices and growls. The fight didn't last long and the sounds of the enemy chatter grew louder. Spotting an energy blade hilt on the ground underneath a slain brother, he quickly retrieved it and flicked it to life. The warrior activated his limited camouflage when a red dot was nearly on top of his position. Sure enough, a stone-faced Brute rounded the corner, rifle at the ready. The Arbiter waited until he had passed before lunging at him and slaying him with a mighty blow. The enemy went down quietly, fortunately enough for him. In due time, another red dot appeared on his radar and again he waited. He managed to take out the second beast with the same maneuver, allowing him to continue, for the time being.

The soldier was faced with bodies of the slaughtered at every sharp corner, occasionally splashing a pool of blood with one of his boots as he tread carefully. Very soon after, he heard more voices. The Arbiter took refuge behind a large boulder.

"Go see what's taking them so long!" a deep voice commanded. Expecting another recon squad, the Arbiter readied a plasma grenade. Shrinking himself back into the boulder, two Brutes failed to notice him as they ran past. The Elite picked another grenade off of the ground as he activated the first. He stormed up behind the two, sticking the one on the head with a well-placed pitch. His buddy noticed it before he did and roared, whipping around to find the gutsy sang. The Arbiter, in a hurry, tossed the other grenade. It fused to the monster's left shoulder armour, which he promptly tore off and threw away. He swung a blow at the alien with the shining blade of his Brute shot. The damaging blade nearly missed the Arbiter's neck as he dove to retrieve another plasma grenade. This time, he didn't miss, and it stuck fast to his calf. The beast blew to shreds as the former holy warrior took refuge behind a smaller rock. He caught some of the bleed, causing his shield system to flair and drop. Some more Brute voices arose after the rut, causing him to wonder if they would find him and if his shields would return in time. Luckily, his shields did return in relatively short time. Not only that, he waited a whole five minutes and no one else showed up. Realising he'd have to venture out of hiding to find them, the warrior gathered up a few more grenades, armed his energy sword, and prepared his active camouflage.

He managed to take out the rest of the small pack of Jiralhanae. It was nerve-racking, lengthy work but he came out alive and sought more Brute scalps in vengeance of his murdered people. Once the pack was finished, a Special Operatives soldier emerged from the doorway at the top of a small rise, also gripping an energy blade. He revealed himself and the Arbiter saw it was none other than one of the soldiers he and Riley had worked with throughout the mission, Norda 'Crosbee. He could tell by his soothing, attractive voice.

"What have these Jiralhanae done?" he asked solemnly, getting a good eyeful of the slaughter that lay in front of him. Bodies of both races littered the ground everywhere. He turned to the Arbiter, his composure more angered than saddened.

"They have shed our brother's blood……and for that they must _die_!" he growled, clenching a fist tightly. No sooner had he proposed that, the familiar rushing of wind sounded as a group of Sangheili drop pods stuck themselves fast into the dirt below them. The first pod's door burst open, revealing a gold-armoured Zealot.

"A Zealot? So much for a stealthy advance," Norda sneered.

"Ha, over so soon?" the Zealot remarked as he called up to the two on the hill.

"I might have known they would send the likes of you," the black-armoured Sangheili challenged, crossing his arms over his chest. The golden Elite darted up the hill, facing his comrade.

"You need our help, whether you recognise this or not. We've been sent by the High Council to aid in the battle against these ignorant monsters."

"What kind of Sangheili Zealot uses contractions?" Norda furthered the challenge.

"I'm no longer a soldier of the Covenant, but of the Sangheili. I won't continue to be used by a system that murders my own kin and plots against us. You'd do well to do the same as I."

Norda didn't have an answer for him.

"Are we going to continue to quarrel amongst each other or are we going to avenge our brothers? We must continue to the battle! Long have I waited for this!" the golden hero laughed.

Ancient doors split apart for them as the former holy warrior of the Prophets followed the Zealot into the interior of the mountain pass. A tall corridor brought them to a dank, dreary Forerunner installation embedded in the side of the mountain. Two Unggoy, their battle suits glowing, stood cowering on top of a rise. Running two of his long fingers down the blade of his sword, the Arbiter tried to gage the temperature of the energy to assess how much was left. He hoped he'd have enough for the oncoming Brute assault. He spotted two of the animalistic soldiers with their backs turned just ahead. Activating his unfair camouflage, he hurriedly advanced on the Brute to the far left, plunging the dual blades into his back, trying to pierce any vital organs. With a howl, the Jiralhanae expired. His partner summoned the rest of their pack, drenching the Elites with red plasma fire. Two Jackals screeched in cockney vernacular as they joined the fray. Distracted by the new threat, the second Brute failed to notice Norda, who assassinated him from behind. When granted with up-to-date active camouflage, one can do these things. Cursing the Prophets for the millionth time for not refitting the ceremonial armour with modern combat accessories, the Arbiter followed his brothers up a slight incline to the next section of the installation.

All seemed quiet, but this soon proved false as he heard deep voices around the upcoming bend. Pressing himself against a tall machine, he listened as the thick footsteps became louder.

"Damn you, Arbiter, you heel trash!"

As the fanatical beast passed, the Sangheili warrior saw a flash of blue as someone stuck him with a grenade. He detonated moments later. A terrible shriek sounded as another pack member began berserking. Switching to his plasma rifle and picking up the red one the dead Brute dropped, he hosed the crazed Jiralhanae with plasma. The monster was upon a blue-armoured Sangheili instantly. Seising him by his long neck, he snapped it and tossed the body over the edge of the installation into a world-renowned Forerunner bottomless pit (as seen on TV!). The Arbiter fired relentlessly at the offending warrior. The air grew thick with the odour of burnt fur and flesh, the plasma from both of his rifles sticking to his enemy and melting into a white-hot purple. Whirling around and glaring at him with burning red eyes, the Brute could only roar and make a stunted lunge before succumbing to the flesh-melting plasma.

"……This journey you make alone, my brother," the Zealot said, placing a fist over his hearts as he gazed into the mist-shrouded cavern. He was denied the time to recite the Sangheili funeral rites when a grenade from one of the Brute's ballistic weapons bounced off of the floor and struck the pillar the golden-armoured warrior was standing near. Returning their weapons to a firing position, the Elite team hugged the cliff wall and scaled a sloping, rocky ramp. Bashing in the head of a Jackal wielding an orange shield, they overran the last remaining Jiralhanae and the Drones who provided air support above them.

"Are you injured?" the Zealot asked as Norda deactivated his camo and appeared next to him.

"Nothing I can't handle," he replied. "How are you, Arbiter?"

"I am fine."

Waiting for the soldier in crimson armour, the oldest of the team, to catch up, they continued onward.

The Master Chief and what was left of his Marine crew stepped through one of a million doors, their boots touching soft soil as they did so. Just ahead of them, they saw an ornately amoured Elite and a Brute systematically taking turns punching each other in the face. Down to the far left, a Jackal was shouting in a pirate-like voice as another Elite dodged the constant streaks of energy from his beam rifle. To the right, two black-armoured Elites were firing at something below their position.

"Seriously, what the hell, man?" Private Little said.

"Yeah, why are these Covenant fighting each other?" the other soldier, Private Fleming, inquired. The rest were lost foolishly as they tried to fight a pair of Hunters hand-to-hand. Those silly leathernecks.

"I haven't a clue," the Master Chief answered, shaking his helmeted head. Seeing as the two Covenant soldiers were too engrossed in punching each other, the Chief stepped in and disposed of them both with two plasma grenades.

"With mine blessings, the Jiralhanae now lead our holy fleets. They asketh for thine alliegence……and thou shalts giveth it to them," the team heard the Prophet of Truth speak. Like any decent totalitarian society, the Covenant holy city was filled with loudspeakers that were set up on every corner, in every room, and in every public place so the alien citizens could never be without hearing a leader's voice.

"You wouldn't believe the number of kill systems the Covenant are throwing down around us," Cortana chimed in.

"There's that 'us' again," the Chief muttered.

"Not to worry, though, it's pretty sloppy stuff. I guess they never expected a hostile intelligence to penetrate their network from the _inside_."

"……That's what he said?" the Spartan half-asked, wondering if that made sense but somehow not caring too much, comforted by only the fact that it would piss the AI off and get her to stop talking. Brandishing an energy sword he robbed from an Elite corpse, he crept down the small hill to engage the Elite who waited there. The tall, black-armoured alien spotted him and pointed an accusing finger.

"No!" he commanded.

"No what?" Chief replied.

"No."

"Yeah, I heard you, no _what_?"

"Just……_no_," the Elite repeated, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes.

"No _this_," the cyborg retorted, pitching a grenade at him. With a grunt, the Elite dove out of the way and off of a small cliff. Waiting for the grenade to go off, he yanked a beam rifle from a cargo module and peered over, spotting the alien. He put him out of his misery with two snaps from the particle beam. He felt his MJOLNIR's temperature rise and several punches strike various parts of his upper body. Reacting immediately, he saw two light-blue Ranger soldiers descend from over a tall hill, the four plasma rifles between them both searing his power armour. Crouching behind a boulder, he clenched his teeth as he felt the slight burn and heard his suit's alarm start to ring.

"Anything damaged?" Cortana worried.

"All good," he replied, standing back up to his full height and setting the crosshair of the Covenant weapon over the alien to the right. Two beams punctured their way through his armour and his jetpack and sent him tumbling to the dirt below. The other noticed the quick death of his partner and took cover at the back of the heavily vegetated area. Pulling another rifle from the module, he approached Private Little and held it out.

"Here, take this."

"Psh, I can't take that," the Marine chuckled, not taking the super soldier seriously.

"Why not?"

"Because Marines can't operate beam rifles, Brute shots, or energy swords," he rattled off, counting on his fingers in succession. "We just can't."

He tried Private Fleming, but the soldier only shook his head violently and held two fingers out in a cross gesture to the weapon.

The Master Chief was silent. "……Oh, so the UNSC finally realised just how handy you people are with plasma pistols and plasma rifles?"

"Was that a dig?" the other leatherneck asked.

"……Yes, I do believe that _was_ a dig. Stick together and follow me," he commanded, brushing past them and moving to the opposite hill with the Jackal pirate and his sniper rifle. After he had pushed the pirate off of the ledge and watched him plummet to the underworld, the Chief heard the characteristic whine of a fuel-rod cannon. "Shit," he said to himself as he used the scope on his rifle to pinpoint the location of the Hunter pair that had somehow sneaked up on them. He was relieved as he witnessed a pack of three Brutes overtake both behemoths, saving him a lot of work and ammunition. His men in tow, he followed a twisting dirt path up to the back of the room and to the door waiting for them. They entered into a long passageway with a tall ceiling opened to the High Charity dome. Several cackling green birds glided above the rustic, earthy tower. The Spartan hadn't gone more than two steps when he heard a splat and saw a white globule whiz past his mirrored visor. Looking to his left, he pursed his lips to keep himself from yelling out. One of the peaceful, docile birds had made a toilet out of his left shoulder. Chief sighed loudly and angrily, startling the Marines who were otherwise snickering at him from behind his back.

"The Covenant just destroyed two of their own ships……and I'm getting reports of small arms fire throughout their fleet," the AI advised, mightily confused as the Chief seised a handful of Private Little's camo and wiped the mess off.

"Denizens within the Covenant! The path is broad and we shalst walk it side-by-side!" Truth comforted his genocidal subjects.

Dealing with no more crapping birds, the trio encountered what looked like a gravity lift pad, but there was no gravity lift in sight. Instead, there was a long field akin to a moving sidewalk. Wanting to make further inspection of it, the Chief was stalled as Cortana called out "Slipspace rupture!" It's _In Amber Clad_!"

Looking around frantically, the team saw a flash of light and heard the crack as the massive frigate entered the city. It swooped over their position and banked towards the left, disappearing from sight.

"The Commander will save us," Cortana remarked sarcastically. Chief took a second to picture a snarling Miranda Keyes emerging from the wreckage of her frigate and wielding two rocket launchers.

"I actually feel a little better about our situation now," he agreed.

"Hailing……no response."

"You're _surprised_ by this?"

"Eh, not really. She's crashed into another tower ahead of our position."

"You're surprised by _this too_?"

"……Forget it," she threw in the towel.

"What is this, Chief? A grav lift?" Little inquired, sticking his hand into the field. He gingerly stepped onto the pad and immediately began hovering. He was transported along the field and dropped to the platform of the next tower.

"……That rocked!" he shouted.

Deeming it safe, the others followed. Once reunited, the Chief halted and turned his head to the side.

"Somethin' wrong, Chief?"

"I hear something. Sounds like voices."

"Yeah, I hear it too," Little's friend agreed, straining to listen.

"Stay alert," the Spartan advised in a low whisper as he crept around a path to the left. In the center of the first Garden in the Sky, two Brutes stood over a group of Elites. Two were roughly scrubbing the metal floors of the garden and their captors had the rest prying open carbine cartridges with their extra jaws, counting to make sure the correct number of rounds were inside. Zooming in with his scope, the Spartan could tell by the chipped teeth on their jaws and the grimaces on their faces that it was tough work and they had been going at it for a length of time. Purple blood stained the front of their armour and their chests.

"Why don't you _use_ those other jaws, Sangswine?!" a Jiralhanae yelled, swiping at the back of his long neck. A black-armoured warrior grunted, clutching the wound. More blood began to add to the previous mess.

"Ouch," the second human soldier said as he squinted to see the aliens.

"I'll put them _all _out of their misery," the cyborg concluded, moving toward the antagonising Brute. He had gotten both Sangheili and the Brute bully, but the other had taken notice and was slowly approaching him. This gave the "Sangerella" a chance to retaliate from behind, seising two energy swords from a nearby module. Chief had run out of energy in his rifle and switched to the carbine he found. Backtracking, he loaded half a clip of the crystal projectiles into the Brute's skull and watched him die mere feet from their corner on a patch of dirt. The Brute was down, but there was still the matter of the two sword-bearing Sangheili that were stealthily advancing. The two Marines focused their plasma fire on the closest one. His shields dropped and his snake-like skin was burnt by the blue plasma. His armour melted and puddled on the floor around his body. The second roared and sped up with a renewed vigour, flexing his four jaws.

"_I'm_ the one you want!" Master Chief taunted, standing in front of the edge, gripping his carbine with one hand as it rested at his side. Pulling back his arm for a fatal lunge, the Spartan side-stepped away and slammed his elbow into the Elite's back, knocking him off of the tower platform. Releasing his sword and crying out as he fell, the super soldier didn't even look over as he gathered the Marines and continued. The Sangheili's body landed on the same Unggoy pair who were interrupted when Zuka 'Zamamee flung the Jackal down into the city.

"Dammit!" one shrieked, pulling out an umbrella. His buddy huddled underneath it as well, next to the prone Elite.

Following the same paths, they came upon another grav sidewalk like the one before.

"Am I the only one that's reminded of that scene in Mary Poppins when all the nannies are flying by the Banks house in that gust of wind?" the other devildog asked. The Chief had a rather spectacular helmetpalm moment.

"Did we lose anyone in that battle?"

"Only one, 'Romanee," Arby reported.

"Damn. One less warrior to raze this encampment," the Zealot growled. Replacing his carbine and activating his energy blade, the Zealot led them through a tall doorway and into another awaiting Brute ambush. Thinking quickly, the Arbiter seised a lonely fuel-rod cannon and hoisted it up on his shoulder. Watching a captain swat Norda to the ground, he shot a glowing green projectile at his feet, sending the monster careening over the cliff. Norda crawled to the safety of a boulder to let his shield system recharge.

"Arbiter! Bring your cannon down here!" the Zealot called out, waving him over. The former holy warrior watched as another Brute captain rode up to his position in a Ghost. Climbing out quickly, he saw the Captain carried a long, black weapon in his paws.

"He is armed!" Arby tried to warn. When the Zealot turned to face his foe, the barrel of the weapon was jammed into his mouth as the Jiralhanae hoisted him into the air.

"……Worthless Sangheili, this is why you will _never_ again be the most feared warrior race," he growled. Pulling the trigger on his weapon, the round tore through his head, blasting his four jaws off and his elongated skull to pieces. Clenching his own jaws together, the Arbiter released two of the fuel-rods towards the cruel Brute. They served to destroy both him and his vehicle. Norda, whose shields had recharged by now, emerged from the boulder and rejoined the Arbiter.

"What sort of weapon _is_ that?" he asked looking upon the headless body of the Zealot.

"……Human," Arby answered solemnly.

Without another word, the two lone warriors found two unmanned Ghosts and pressed forth. Having traded his plasma rifle for a beam rifle, the Arbiter dismounted his vehicle and scanned the next area with its scope. Spotting two Jackals on top of a ledge, he burned through them and focused on finding the Brute pack leader. His search yielded no animal with the characteristic flag, but he did succeed in disposing of several soldiers who took turns climbing into the seat behind a plasma turret in an attempt to destroy one of the most important Sangheili leaders. Having run out of energy, he mounted his Ghost and joined Norda in combat.

Cruising along steadily in the Phantom, Riley sat patiently waiting to reach the part of the ring the Arbiter was stationed at. Having contacted other warriors in the SpecOps branch, they had a pinpoint on where their location was. Marco 'Geometree, 'Zamamee's aide, piloted the ship while his master sat back with Riley. The blue-armoured Elite thought the aide's driving was _far_ inferior to Juliano 'Lassamee's. He sat comfortably, holding on to his knee with one leg crossed over the other; reminiscent of how elderly men sit when they're waiting for something to happen. 'Zamamee glanced at him for a moment or two and then cleared his throat.

"Riley?"

"Mm-hm?"

"There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

"Is it about whether or not George Washington cut down that cherry tree? Because if it is, don't worry, I already know all about it. It didn't happen," Riley replied with a laugh.

"……Even if I understood a word of what you just said, I'd still say no. Anyway, do you remember a few days ago, you know, when you had that party?"

"Oh yeah! My Christmas party! Man, I can't believe Christmas is over already. Oh well, it's always Christmas in my mind. What about it?"

"Well……even though I don't remember a whole lot, because I was pretty wasted, I do remember……telling you a few things," the Officer went on.

"Yeah, you went on for like three cycles about how you were 'secretly in love with me' or some kinda flim-flam like that."

There was an awkward silence as they both tried to remember the night better.

"……It wasn't very nice."

"What do you mean?" Zuka asked.

"Well……the way you expressed everything, I mean I knew you were drunk, but……well……I've always sorta, kinda, liked you. A lot. I mean a lot a lot," Riley explained as best he could.

"I know," 'Zamamee said with a smile.

"Guess it was kinda obvious."

"You weren't very reserved about it, that's for certain. The reason I wanted to talk to you is that, well, I feel the same way."

Riley looked back up at the other Sangheili, a bit surprised. "So……you like me, too?"

"Ever since you spilled your beer on me the night we won galactics in the marching band," 'Zamamee added. "Talk about wasted."

"Oh yeah……I don't even remember that," the blue-armoured Elite laughed. "But there's something I still don't understand. You treated me like dirt ever since I first met you. How come?"

"I suppose it was my own arrogance and insecurity. I come from a very wealthy, aristocratic clan and my rank is full of the same arrogant, thick-headed—"

'Geometree turned around and gave him an uneasy stare.

"Er, not you, Marco, you're fine," he quickly added. The younger Sangheili turned back to the controls.

"Anyway, I was afraid I would be removed from the Special Operatives branch. I don't really care about my lineage or my kinsmen but I wanted desperately to keep my rank. I hope you can forgive me for not telling you sooner and for the way I've treated you in the past. I never meant it deep down."

There was another silence as the minor officer ran through all of the years of verbal abuse he had endured from his higher-ranked friend. Putting it all behind him, he turned back to Zuka once more.

"How could I not forgive the guy I've had a crush on for the last six ages?" he said.

"So……everything's okay?"

"It sure is," Riley said, pulling his glasses up and letting them rest on the front of his helmet as he gave the other Officer the most seductive look he could manage. 'Zamamee smiled as he moved in closer.

"You know, I've never seen you without your glasses on……you're very easy on the eyes, 'Bodensee."

'Geometree made a quiet gagging gesture to himself as he listened to their conversation.

"Not as easy as you might think. I can't see a thing," Riley answered, pulling his spectacles back down over his eyes. His farsightedness made it difficult to clearly see the Elite in front of him.

"I suppose it doesn't matter in the end," Zuka shrugged, leaning closer. "I know the Kaidon of your keep isn't here, neither are the uncles that directly raised you, but……would you like to be my partner?" 'Zamamee inquired. "I'm sober this time so I really mean it."

Riley had to fight with himself in order to keep his utter excitement in. "Absolutely!" he squealed with delight.

"We've arrived on the ring, sir. Are you finished jawing back there?" the frustrated 'Geometree asked as he swiveled in the pilot's chair.

"Yes, 'Geometree. Are you finished being a smartass?" he retorted.

"……Forgive me, sir."

"He's just jealous. Ready to vanquish some blasphemous, murdering animals, partner?" 'Zamamee inquired of Riley, helping him up from his seat.

"After you, partner," he replied as the younger Special Operatives soldier lowered the ramp. They exited the ship, whereupon they were greeted by the Arbiter and Norda.

"It is good to see some more Sangheili faces," the Arbiter said with a nod.

"Hm, you know who's face _I_ haven't seen in a while? 'Canundrum's'," Riley commented.

"What's the situation here, Arbiter?" Zuka inquired, scoping out the area. They had put down in an open area littered with destroyed Ghosts and the bodies of both Brutes and Jackals alike.

"We have cleared this area of the Jiralhanae encampment. We were just preparing to move on," the former holy warrior answered.

"Well, well, well……we have got to stop meeting like this, 'Bodensee," Norda said, sidling closer to the minor officer.

"Sorry Norda, _I'm_ taken," Riley answered with a cheeky grin. The other Elite looked surprised.

"When did this happen?"

"Few units ago."

"……Is it an open relationship?"

"What do you think _you're_ doing, 'Crosbee?" Zuka asked, approaching both Sangheili.

"I was having a conversation with 'Bodensee over here is all, Master 'Zamamee."

"Really? Do most of your conversations involve hitting on other officer's partners?"

"……Whom do you think I'm hitting on?" he grinned. 'Zamamee wasn't happy. "Now that you're with Riley, perhaps we could try that 'hcezrt Wörentrap' we wanted."

"That was back when we were……working closely with one another."

"And what a good mission it was. It would have been more successful if _you_ weren't so afraid of commitment," Norda said slyly.

"Oh my gosh, you guys have an awkward past! I knew it!" Riley overheard them, faking a sob.

"We er, were partners for a while," Zuka admitted disgracefully.

"Mine was your favourite, wasn't it? I was always open for you, Zuka. I satisfied you immensely."

"Your doors were never _closed_. That's why I moved on."

"Well, should you decided to rekindle the fire, you know my serial number," Norda chuckled.

"……Lead the way, Arbiter," 'Zamamee said, turning back to the warrior. Riley frowned as Norda flashed him a cheeky look, following the former holy warrior.

The Sangheili held position on a slight grassy rise to the left. It was fitted with a weapons module holding two beam rifles which they promptly took full advantage of.

"'Bodensee, are you good at using sniper rifles?" the Arbiter inquired.

"Um—"

"—Here, Norda," he concluded, handing that one off. "Officer 'Zamamee, take 'Bodensee with you and see how many you two can kill from close quarters."

"Zazuwazzazazaaa?!" Riley mumbled in both protest and fear.

"Fear not, Rye. I'll watch out for you," Zuka soothed. "Besides……I could use your good arm."

Riley's face went purple at the compliment. "Well, I _am_ pretty good at chuckin' grenades. It's the only thing I'm good at," his shyness melted to sorrow.

"I'll protect you," the SpecOps soldier promised, flashing his sword to life. The blue-armoured sang smiled and followed his partner down into the ravine. Positioned behind the module, both Arby and Norda sent beam after beam towards the waiting Brute pack. Zuka, having activated his camo, slinked through shadows and past boulders and trees as he stalked his prey. Riley flanked on the other side of the ravine. One Brute, who was leaning against the top of his Ghost and picking his teeth with a toothpick, immediately froze as he saw 'Zamamee's approaching energy sword.

"Dear Prophets! It's a haunted blade!" he announced stumbling over his vehicle to report to his commanding officer. On top of a small hill, the Captain waited amongst a squad of Jackals. He angrily grasped the younger soldier by his throat, pulling him behind the cover of a boulder.

"What are you doing, you Unggoy anus?! Don't you see that the heels have particle beams?!" he growled, shaking him violently.

"Sir! I saw a ghost sword, there! By the trees!" he choked, pointing a trembling finger to where he saw Zuka. The Captain released him, taking one step forward, eyes narrowed upon the trees. In an instant, he saw the flash of a sword as it disappeared behind a boulder.

"By the Prophets! A phantom sword!" he agreed."We must leave this place before it takes possession of a pack member!"

That being said, he and the younger member fought over a Ghost, of which the Captain ultimately won, and high-tailed it out of the ravine as fast as they could. The soldier chased after his commanding officer on foot. The Arbiter was able to pick him off with the last of his beam rifle.

"……Okay, now _that_ was something I would have suspected from _me_, _not_ from them," Riley commented, placing his arms akimbo. Zuka reappeared, looking dumbfounded. "You weren't even that good of a ghost. You didn't even say 'boo'."

"Thanks, Rye," Zuka answered.

"I'm not giving a Beginning Ghosting class next semester, so you're outta luck, Mister."

"What was that?" the former holy warrior asked, jumping down from the hill and nearing the two.

"……Stupid animals, _that's_ what it was," Norda said.

"Let us catch up with the coward and show him what happens to mongrels who run from the Sangheili," the Arbiter suggested happily as the team reloaded weapons and prepared to move.

"Hold up a second, I want to see what's in that module over there," Riley stated, jogging towards a weapons crate sitting by a boulder to the back of the ravine. Humming jovially to himself, he reached down to unfasten the stock of a carbine……and made a horrible discovery. His friend Marshall "Canundrun" 'Nordsee was among the line of Sangheili bodies strewn next to it. He was missing his right leg and had his hand clasped over a gaping wound that used to be his right shoulder. His eyes were glassy as he looked up at his friend. Riley was almost too shocked and overwhelmed for words……almost.

"……Riley? Is that you? I-I can't really see," "Canundrum" said pitifully. Purple blood leaked from the corner of one punctured eye.

"'Canundrum'……" he answered cradling his head in his arms. With his free hand, the wounded Elite reached out and grasped the minor officer's wrist weakly.

"I-I'm not doin' so well, Riley. S'not so bad though……I get to see you at least," he managed a weak smile through all of his suffering.

"Marshall……" he took a hold of his hand tightly. "Why do I have to lose my only Sangheili friends?"

"You have more Sangheili friends, Riley, I know you do."

"……I hate this war," he whimpered, beginning to cry.

"Riley, have you……oh," Zuka said, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw the body.

"That's Zuka, isn't it?" "Canundrum" questioned.

"It is," the black-armoured sang answered flatly.

"Figures."

The other two warriors came after 'Zamamee, but looked on, turning their backs once they saw the wounded stealth soldier. "Canundrum" was in a position thought of as very dishonourable. He was still alive but maimed severely and unable to fight. Luckily, he wouldn't last much longer in his condition. Riley's uncontrollable sobbing wasn't good for the honour system either. Showing emotions on the battlefield wasn't a Sangheili custom.

"Riley, please, this isn't how I want to remember you," the silver-armoured Elite pleaded, touching his friend's neck. "Please……I did my duty as a Sangheili and a warrior. My number's drawn, Riley—" he paused to try and regain the breath he was slowly losing. "……B-Before I go on the Journey, I have only one regret."

"What is it?" Riley asked.

"……I never got to ask you to be my partner."

Zuka bristled upon hearing this.

"Saw that coming," the silent 'Geometree said aloud. Both his superior and the Arbiter shot him looks. Norda stifled one chuckle that went unheard. "……Sorry," he apologised.

Riley felt more tears slide down his face. He remembered all of the opportunities he could have sat down with "Canundrum" and let him express his feelings, but he never allowed him to do so. An overwhelming sense of guilt washed over him.

"It's all my fault, Marshall……I should have listened to you when you wanted to talk to me all those times."

"Don't worry about it. What's done is done. I doubt I would have lived long enough to even ask your clan. I wonder, though, will you do me one last favour?"

"Yes, anything," Riley said.

"……Don't just exist……_live_. I grew up in a poor clan. We never had much to eat, many weapons, many books, we barely had enough cloaks to keep us warm. But throughout my life, I realised it's not how much wealth or possessions you have but how many friends and family members who care about you that you have. I know you're clan is strong and tightly bound. Keep it that way. You'll live a happier life," he finished, settling down into the dirt.

"……You read that human book I let you borrow, 'The Bell Jar'."

"Yes, yes I read it, Riley. I loved it. Thank you. I-I'll put in a good word for you with the Forerunners."

"Canundrum" focused his glassy, heavy eyes on Riley's, drawing his final breaths. His head slipped out of Riley's lap and rest on the earth of the sacred ring. Riley silently let go of his hand and gingerly laid it down by his side. The other soldiers recited the funeral rites. The minor officer kept silent throughout, he didn't have the will power to join in. Once they had finished, the Arbiter offered his hand to Riley and helped him up.

"I……I am sorry," he said, placing a hand on the side of his neck. Riley patted his shoulder.

"……Let's just move on," he said, removing the plasma rifle from his thigh.

"You won't be moving anywhere!" a deep, guttural voice sounded in front of them. Three Brutes dismounted a Spectre and advanced upon them, their weapons aimed. With two out of the three soldiers wielding Brute shots and another mounted behind the turret on the vehicle, there was little the Sangheili could do. The leader strode right up to Riley, who appeared not to care in the least that the fanatical beasts had arrived.

"Snivelling blue-armoured heel," he mocked, shoving him back. The Elite stumbled and caught himself. "What are you crying about?" Riley didn't answer. "Crying because you finally realised who the master race is? Have you come to recognise with whom the true power lies?"

"You're not the master race. There _is_ no master race," Riley said calmly. The Brute Captain shoved him again, harder. Riley tumbled to the ground. Another Brute immediately seised him and stood him up once more, shoving him back towards his commanding officer.

"You'd _dare_ challenge me? Especially when you're so weak as to shed tears? How did you ever become a warrior? Of course, this is the Sangheili's fault for not teaching their filthy spawn the ways of war. You are a disgrace, a failure, and—"

In that instant, Riley heard the Brute transform. Instead of the hairy, prejudiced monster, he became Uncle Chuckspa, Elder Golgaar, Uncle Śzerman, and the other members of his clan who were constantly taunting him. Sangheili children are raised with physical and verbal abuse from nearly the moment they're born as to harden them for the lifetime of military service they are expected to undertake. He remembered vividly how he was always singled out on his keep on Sangheilios because of his interest in things other than the art of war. The other family members his age would also tease him the same way, because he was different. They were always stronger, faster, and the more favoured in the clan. He not only reflected on the way the Sangheili throughout his life treated him, but the way the Prophets and the council had jeered at him during his trial. Never once had he retaliated in even a remotely harsh way, never had he struck back at his antagonisers. He had always hung his head and took it.

Riley had ignored the constant stream of insults the Brutes had been stringing together. So lost in his memories he had forgotten that the Jiralhanae were still present. Feeling his hands tightened into fists, he let the years of pent-up anger rise inside of him. His breathing grew heavier and his pupils dilated until they covered his yellow-orange scleras. The Brutes began laughing heartily at his discomfort.

"Beware of the mighty heel!" a lesser Jiralhanae jeered.

"He's angry! He might attack!"

"What's the matter, heel? Offended by our speech?" the Captain chuckled. Glancing downward, Riley spotted the hilt of "Canundrum's" energy sword. "Here, I know what will make him mad," the Brute went on. He then disrespectfully aimed a brutal kick at the silver-armoured corpse on the ground.

That did it.

Instincts long dead became alive again. Without really comprehending what was happening, Riley snatched up the sword, flicked it to life, let out a mighty roar, and swung the hardest blow he had ever given, severing the Captain almost completely in half. The other Jiralhanae roared out, arming their weapons once more. The other Elites jumped right into the battle, joining Riley in his newfound bloodlust. The once timid soldier sliced the enemy into pieces. With another cry he tore down the road the antagonists had come from, in search of more monsters to dispose of.

"……Did you see _that_?" 'Geometree asked, astounded.

"Is hell going to freeze over?" the Arbiter inquired as they stood in awe.

"He's gonna get himself killed!" Zuka exclaimed, tearing after his partner.

The troupe followed in the same direction the younger warrior forged. Taking extreme caution, they observed the long, winding path following the small river. Bodies of both Brutes and Jackals were already beginning to litter the river banks. Riley was still fighting the rest of the enemy aliens. They watched as he drenched an explosive module with plasma fire, engulfing the two Brutes hiding behind it as it erupted into a white flash. Riding on the adrenaline speeding through his veins, the minor officer climbed up a rocky bridge, terrified Jackals screeching as they discarded their weapons and searched for cover. Some threw themselves into the river just to be away from the crazed Sangheili. The waters flowing downstream ran black with Jiralhanae blood. The Elites were stunned at the amount of bodies that lay scattered. Moments after the slaughter, the Jackals that couldn't escape hung limply from the bridge and enemy limbs were tossed about like driftwood. Spots of purple blood reminded them that their comrade was not immortal and was sustaining injury in his rampage.

"Look at this slaughter," Norda breathed. "I would _never_ have believed this if I hadn't seen it myself, not even if the Prophets made me."

"Of course, he had to wait until _now_ to finally turn into a soldier," 'Geometree commented.

"This is helpful, though. He is proving himself to be a rather formidable enemy to the Jiralhanae," the Arbiter countered.

"He's kicking some major ass," 'Zamamee nodded. "He just blew up. I wonder what happened."

"This river……it runs black now," Norda surmised, squatting over the water on the other side of the rock bridge. A piercing cry startled the warriors as they looked downstream. It sounded like Riley's signature exclamation of "Sweet Georgia Brown!" but they couldn't be certain.

"If that is him, he must be close," Arby said.

"I hope he isn't wounded!" Zuka said, speeding off down the river's path, splashing blackened water as he did.

They reunited with their brother in arms in short time. Riley was perched on top of a small hill, standing next to a portable communications tower which sparked dangerously. Two Grunts were cowering behind his armoured legs.

"Is he going to attack us if we approach him?" 'Geometree inquired.

"I don't think so, Marco," 'Zamamee said, starting up the hill. Considering what his aide said, he called out to his friend.

"Riley! Are you alright?"

He received no answer.

"We will be ready if he is not cooperative," the Arbiter said, placing a hand on the hilt of his energy blade.

"I _won't_ hurt my partner," the SpecOps soldier remarked. "Neither will you, Excellency."

The former holy warrior ignored him as he approached the blue-armoured warrior.

"Riley? Have you been injured?" he asked lightly. Riley turned to face him. He only had minor cuts and wounds that bled lightly, there was a large scratch on one of his lenses, and he panted lightly, still trying to regain his breath. Black blood stained his armour.

"'Bodensee? We are your friends. Are you okay?" 'Geometree annunciated clearly, holding up both of his hands to show he was unarmed.

"I'm not deaf, you doughnut-hole," he growled.

"……Ouch," the younger SpecOps soldier replied.

"Riley? What happened?" Zuka asked, lightly touching his neck. Riley pushed his hand away violently.

"I _don't_ want to be touched!" he snapped.

"I just wanted to—"

"—I don't care."

"……Very well," his partner said with a sigh. He backed away slowly.

"I am _not_ a failure. I am _not_ a weakling, either. I can take care of myself. I _know_ how to fight, I _know_ how to kill, and now……I'm not afraid to do so. _Stop_ making fun of me and _stop_ treating me like an idiotic, incapacitated, feeble _runt_," he demanded harshly of the others, eyes still dilated.

"We don't think that," Norda replied.

"I think that," 'Geometree protested.

" Mighty 'Bodensee saved us from stupid hairballs! He slashed them with sword! He pulled out their guts and threw them over his shoulder! He—"

"—SHUT UP!" Riley hollered, causing a thrumming echo to sound through the canyons. "You're voices are so obnoxious! They make me want to dump boxes of scorpions on kindergarters! Stop talking and leave me alone or so help me Forerunners, I will—" no one ever found out what he was going to do. Riley trailed off near the end of his threat when he noticed how petrified both of the Grunts were. He was a friend to all Unggoy, both races knew this, and his newfound anger was turning him into a typical Sangheili. One of the Grunts whimpered painfully as he tried to hide himself in his battle harness. Riley sank to his knees and held his arms out to the frightened Grunt. He shamefully embraced the diminutive soldier in a hug.

"I'm so sorry!" he apologised. "I'm a monster. I let my anger get the best of me. I've never done anything like this before." Tightening his grip around the Unggoy, he lifted the creature off of the ground a good few feet and sobbed hysterically. "Shame, shaaaaaame!"

"Okay, _you_ need to relax." 'Geometree said calmly, but sternly.

"Dontchu tell _me_ to relax, math! No one understands my sorrow! Not anyone in the army, not anyone in my keep, _no one_!"

"What are we to do?" the Arbiter whispered to 'Zamamee.

"Just lettim vent, I have an idea," the black-armoured Elite said, jumping down from the small hill and approaching a stationary Ghost.

"Elder Golgaar was the worst! He'd sit next to me during supper and always ask me _every night_ 'are ya gonna have another?!' even if we weren't eating anything at the moment! It didn't make any sense!"

'Geometree looked to the Arbiter and traced a continuous circle near the side of his head, the intergalactic symbol for "crazy". The Grunt was turning colours as Riley's grip automatically tightened the more he got into his ravings. A series of loud clicks emitted from the Unggoy's methane mask. Zuka returned, carrying a long towel. Casually approaching the hysterical minor officer, he hastily wrapped the towel around the other Elite. Riley dropped the Grunt like a hot plate, exclaiming "I can't see!"

"Alright, let's move out before things get weirder that they already have," the SpecOps officer ordered.

"Damn, how many of these _are_ there?" a particularly inquisitive Private Fleming asked, referring to the many Gardens in the Sky they had arrived at. The Master Chief and his team of the remaining two Marines were nearing the pad from which the Prophet of Truth was to depart for the dreadnought in the middle of the vast city. Or so they thought.

"I guess the Covenant worship Mr. Green-Jeans," the Chief answered solemnly.

"Who's Mr. Green-Jeans?" the Private asked.

"……He was before your time," the Spartan answered. "He was before _all _of our times."

As they descended a gently sloping ramp, the Chief caught a glimpse of two of the bright blue vacuum suits unique to the Elite Rangers. Positioning himself as accurately as he could, he aimed the long barrel of his newly acquired beam rifle and aimed. Well out of range of the Elite's plasma rifles and with little cover to utilise, the alien soldiers were downed within a matter of seconds.

"Hey, if you're goin' in the fridge, could you grab me a beer?" Fleming asked.

"DO YOU SEE A FRIDGE?" the Master Chief's voice rose to an imposing volume. The soldier cowered close to his brother in arms.

"Sheesh, Fleming, quit asking such dumbass questions," Private Little snapped.

"_I_ got this," the Chief addressed Little.

He led them down the streets of town, right to the traffic cop. The streets of town were actually the narrow paths leading through the garden and the traffic cop was actually a very angry Brute Captain contending with two aggressive Elites in black armour. Waiting until the two parties wheedled each other down, one Elite was left and promptly took notice of the human intruders. Roaring a challenge, he brandished his energy sword and barreled toward them. The Spartan primed a plasma grenade and pitched it at the oncoming foe. It stuck to the alien's chest, but he ignored it and made an attempt to act as suicide bomber. He detonated before reaching the team.

"Nice toss, Chief!" Little complimented.

"Thanks," he replied stoically, stepping in the field of the gravity sidewalk as it pulled him to another door on the opposite side. The Marines followed after him.

"_Rise, my brothers! Cast down the Sangheili! Silence their brazen, lying jaws once and for all_!" the humans heard a deep and threatening voice boom over the intercom.

"I _knew_ it! Hitler didn't kill himself! He's been living with the Covenant all this time! I _tried_ to tell everyone, but they didn't listen. Now _I_ get the last laugh!" Private Little declared.

"Can we just keep going?" the Spartan demanded of the perky soldier.

"……Sorry, sir."

"_Once the towers are clear, we'll send them to the camps in the lower districts_!" the voice continued. The crew stepped towards the automatic door. It pulled apart and they immediately took cover, for several Drones whizzed by. The alien insects took no notice of them. Cautiously following the oblivious, winged creatures down a winding corridor, they were greeted by another set of doors. These revealed a relatively anticipated sight. Several Brutes had taken several Elites prisoner. The four-jawed warriors were lined up against a far wall by rank. The Marines could see that they were bound tightly. The Brutes all had familiar-looking maroon armbands. They picked at the Spartan's brain……where had he seen these before?

"_Swine_! Damn fucking heel bastards!" the leader of the Brute pack shouted at the back of the Elite heads, spittle showering them with every racial slur. They watched carefully as the Brutes taunted, jeered, and beat their fellow soldiers. All of their abuse ended with each Elite being shot in the head, several times if the first didn't do the trick.

"I am _so_ confused……_why_?" Corporal Fleming half-sobbed.

"If the Covenant want to kill each other, I say let 'em," 117 commented.

"True dat," Private Little agreed.

"It's like hate-crimes!" Fleming whined, covering his eyes with the backs of his hands, interchanging the left and right.

"Alfredo, my friend, chill," Little said, placing a hand on his shoulder sternly.

Ignoring the two Marines, the Chief checked the amount of energy he had left in his rifle and set out to snipe the racist Brutes. Ignorant of the invading humans, the Jiralhanae were utterly confused once carbine and beam rifle projectiles began raining down upon them like killer sleet. Crystal rounds dented and removed their helmets before energy particles sliced through the sides of their heads. Amidst the confusion and premature beserking, the group of humans wasted the furry, xenophobic aliens with their outstanding teamwork.

"Keep your galaxy nice and clean," the super soldier said to himself as he shouldered his particle beam.

"Aw-right!" Private Little shouted, punching his fist into the air. Making the inevitable grab for his easy button, the Chief beat him to it, whipping it across the room.

"NO!" Little screamed, tearing off after it. Intent on losing him, the Chief continued on his way. Shrugging, Private Fleming followed the leader.

After the usual routine, they were faced with yet another gravity sidewalk.

"Okay, I'm gonna do this. I'm goin' in backwards this time," Little said, catching up with the others. Asserting his position as first, he entered the pad backwards, giving the Chief a mischievous grin. Sure enough, the gravscalator deposited him backwards on the pad on the opposite side. Master Chief covered his visor with a well-armoured gauntlet as he heard the button echo through the open space.

"I gotta try that," Fleming nodded, stepping awkwardly onto the pad. Turning around too late, it registered only his movement and the Marine remained stationary. "What the?" he said to himself, testing the energy field in front of them with his foot. Growing all the more dangerous, he leaned out further. The gravity field didn't activate and he slipped, falling through the transparent floor. Watching him fall, speechless, the leatherneck dropped to the bottom of the Covenant holy city with a menagerie of distinct shrieks. Shrugging his shoulders and holding out his arms, he spoke to the whole galaxy.

"Thirty-five years of Spartan training and _this_ is what my life has become?" he questioned out loud. He could have sworn he heard Cortana laughing somewhere.

"At this very moment, as I speaketh to thee, the council hast gathered on the sacred and utterly divine ring, Halo. The Great Journey is within our grasp. Soon we shalst all walketh on the path to divinity. To thriveth as gods amongst our makers!" Truth blathered over the intercom system.

"If I had a dollar for every time I thought about how much I hated the Covenant, I would be able to buy every single one of Earth's colonies for personal use," he muttered to himself as he crossed the now working gravity escalator.

"You were just talking to yourself. _Don't_ call _me_ weird next time," Little said.

"_The Sangheili are trying to escape to the Mausoleum. Fools! Their Arbiter can do nothing for them now_!" the Brute leader announced triumphantly. Focusing his attention on finding Truth, he put all other thoughts out of his head as he rounded a curve on the path. Below him, a half a dozen Grunts were gathered around two Brutes. Wearing the same maroon armbands, they were posting flyers all over the planters, cargo modules, and walls of the Garden in the Sky. Having only a little energy left in his rifle, he aimed it at the closest Brute's head and fired. He slew it with a precision headshot, the other pulling his red plasma rifle out and firing in return. The Grunts panicked, flailing about the area. Discarding the now useless particle beam, Chief seised an energy sword from a weapons module and ran to engage the enemy. The Brute growled, swinging a powerful blow at his helmet. Playing copycat, the Spartan replicated his actions and severed the Brute's rifle arm. Howling in agony, the Jiralhanae was aggressively shoved off the garden. This time, the body landed near the outskirts of the Kig-Yar portion of the city, crushing the trash receptacle a destitute Jackal mother was searching through.

"Oi! We gonna eat tonoight!" she announced jovially to her ravenous offspring, noticing the body.

Since the area was quiet now, the Chief took the opportunity to pick up one of the flyers that a prejudiced alien had dropped. Scanning it, it had a highly exaggerated, non-realistic caricature of two Elites roasting the corpse of a Grunt on a spit. The caption read "Do you want _this_ leading your families? Exterminate _them_ before they exterminate _you_!"

"Nice drawing," the remaining Private complimented. Folding it elegantly, he placed it in one of his ammo pouches, thinking it was funny in a grotesque, racist sort of way, therefore worth keeping.

"Hitler's never gonna learn, is he?" the Private sighed, shaking his head.

"Nope, I guess not."

Officer Riley 'Bodensee sat on the back of a commandeered Spectre. He lulled his head in one of his hands and slowly rapped the long fingers of the other on the side of the vehicle. Special Ops Officer Zuka 'Zamamee leaned over from his spot on the left wing of the Spectre, nudging his friend lightly.

"How are you doing?" he inquired with a concerned tone.

Riley answered with a grunt and a dull shrug.

"Calmed down a little bit?"

Another grunt and shrug.

"End of the line, folks," 'Geometree, who was piloting the Spectre, announced. He stopped the vehicle just before a waterfall that indicated the small river had ended. There was a soothing sound of rushing as the water flowed over the drop off. It was beginning to lose its colouring of Brute blood.

"We don't necessarily _have_ to leave the Spectre up here," Norda 'Crosbee said mischievously, his soothing voice adding to the cheek in his tone.

A moment later, the Spectre accelerated as it shot off the edge of the cliff. It landed roughly on the ground below, splashing a weak pool of water from the river. 'Geometree looked back up at the waterfall and shook his head in disapproval.

"I do not understand this river. I mean, it is a river, and this is indeed a waterfall, but, the water level here is so shallow and does not appear to be rising despite the constant feed from a continuous flow of water."

"This _is_ a little strange," the Arbiter agreed.

"……It's Halo. There are plenty of strange things that don't make any sense here. Take the Flood for example," 'Zamamee remarked.

As the three Elites discussed the Flood, Halo, and other strange tales, the melancholy Riley noticed one of two Wraith tanks creep forward toward their position. In trying to overtake them, it got stuck underneath a naturally eroded rock archway. The pilot worked the large machine back and forth, trying to get it through. Riley raised a non-existant eyebrow. Eventually, the Brute was able to get his tank through the tight space and inched forward towards the oblivious Sangheili. Riley stood, suddenly, grabbing the attention of the others. Looking to the back of the Spectre, they all felt ridiculously stupid for failing to notice the enemy. Riley, features set in stone, stepped off of the Spectre's turret and strode right up to the top of the Wraith. He stood poised for seven whole seconds before releasing a deafening battle cry and clawing at the cockpit. The tank backed up, ramming a cliff wall in an attempt to remove the Sangheili. It proved to be a worthless attempt as Riley wrenched the door off and threw it aside. Momentarily undecided, he grabbed Zuka's energy sword from his thigh and ran back to the cockpit. He slashed at the Brute pilot inside until the only sounds heard were Sangheili growls and the grotesque, wet timbre of energy slicing flesh. 'Zamamee watched with mandibles agape, finally bearing up-close witness to his partner's Brute extermination.

"Er, 'Zamamee, sir?" 'Geometree asked, tapping his armoured shoulder.

"……_Hot_," he answered in a loud whisper.

"Arby! Take the Wraith! There's another just on the other side of this cliff!" Riley suggested, jumping off the vacated tank.

"……Yes?" the Arbiter half-asked. He was too confused and impressed by the usually timid Sangheili's new display of daring to reprimand him for giving orders to his superior. He took up position in the Wraith and unleashed hell upon the Brute troops who were foolish enough to emerge from an automatic door embedded in the side of a mountain. Riley and the SpecOps soldiers hustled up a steep incline. They held position until the Arbiter cleared the Jiralhanae.

"Hey, Riley," 'Zamamee said, taking a hold of one of his blue gauntlets.

"_What_?" he snapped, making eye contact with him.

"……The way you killed that Jiralhanae and stole back the Wraith tank was very, very attractive," he said with a gentle smile.

"……Think so?" Riley asked, loosening up.

"Okay, I just want to say something. Can I say something?" 'Geometree interrupted. Both Sangheili favoured the other with looks; Zuka angry, Riley startled.

"I can't guarantee your safety if you do," 'Zamamee growled.

"Look, you guys have been hitting on each other ever since we met up in the armoury. It was cute at first, but now it is just irritating. If you do not mind, _I_ would like to focus on the fight ahead instead of which method of killing you found attractive." No sooner had he finished, they heard the humming of a Phantom as one lowered to their position. It dropped off three reinforcing warriors. Two covered their position as another black-armoured SpecOps commando rounded on the trio.

"I've been lucky today," he greeted upon seeing 'Zamamee and 'Geometree. "Have you two a mission already?"

"Well, not technically, Excellency," 'Zamamee addressed his superior. "We came to aid the Arbiter and to warn the council of the Jiralhanae uprising."

"Then I have a new mission for you. I need all of the Sangheili commandos I can find. The Jiralhanae have threatened to invade the planet the humans call Onyx, the shield world of the Forerunners. Whether or not they plan to carry out with this still has yet to be confirmed, but Imperial Admiral 'Wattinree doesn't wish to take any chances. The discovery of the world will be a great leap forward for our soldiers and our race."

Riley, Zuka, Arby, Norda, and Marco exchanged glances and said "oooh" with subtle variations. Imperial Admiral Xytan 'Jar 'Wattinree was the topmost of the top brass within the Sangheili armed forces. He was also rumoured to be the tallest Sangheili, so people didn't really mess with him. That was also probably why he was such a high rank. Tall people always get the best things……always.

"We must protect our honour and our race. I'd hate to pull rank on you, but I will if I it comes to that," the stranger finished, passively crossing his arms over his chest.

"There's no need. We'll join you, it's our duty," 'Zamamee spoke up. Riley favoured him with an imploring look. Sighing deeply, he comforted his partner. "I'm sorry, Riley, but this is what being a commando is all about. I must leave."

"B-But what about _this _Jiralhanae encampment?" the blue-armoured Sangheili inquired.

"I suppose you picked the ideal time to vent ages of pent up anger. I have a good feeling about you and the Arbiter."

"Don't worry, _I'll_ watch over him," Norda chimed in, placing his arm around Riley's waist. The younger Sangheili pulled away with disgust.

"You're coming with us, Norda!" Zuka grunted, rearing on him.

"He stays," the new officer countered. 'Zamamee favoured him with a confused stare. "I need commandos, but I _don't_ need lovers rubbing up against each other when we should be killing Jiralhanae."

"We're not—"

"—But you _were_. My word is final."

Riley hung his head, diverting his eyes from his. Zuka went to comfort his distraught partner.

"……You want to protect our race, right? I've not a doubt in my mind the fleet the Imperial Admiral is gathering could repel any invasion, but help certainly wouldn't be rejected if those filthy monsters do go through with such an idiotic idea. Our paths will cross again one day, when this stupid war is finally over. We will meet beneath the lights," he concluded, quoting one of the most well-known Sangheili folk songs. It mentioned the "Lights of Sangheilios" or the series of bright stars that surrounded their planet.

Riley nodded, his gaze returning. "We will meet beneath the lights."

"Hey……we'll always have High Charity," Zuka smiled warmly. Both partners embraced each other tightly, hoping it wouldn't be their last as they went their separate ways. After stroking Riley's lower jaws, he turned sharply and headed for the waiting Phantom.

"Zuka! Wait!" he cried out. Catching up with him, he produced the stuffed tiger he had kept ever since he was an infant and placed it in his hand. "……Hold on to Moops for me."

"I thought you didn't let anyone touch him?"

"……The first rite of Sangheili union……what's mine is now yours." He closed Zuka's hand around the tiger. The black-armoured Elite took in a sharp breath, unable to answer, and entered the ship from a short grav lift. Riley watched sadly as it ascended and left the ringworld. The Arbiter slowly approached him from behind.

"Now I know how Ingrid Bergman felt."

"The Jiralhanae are not going to kill themselves," the Arbiter said, hefting up a beam rifle.

"This room is taaall," the Spartan's only remaining Marine companion said, shielding his eyes and observing the foyer.

"Keep your weapon up. Didn't they teach you that when you were a baby?" he asked, pulling his carbine from his side and positioning it at a firing height.

"Oh, they taught me."

Their attention was drawn to the scraping of armour as a small pack of Brutes entered the room from the opposite door and took position. Frowning, Little activated a plasma grenade he picked up from the floor by his boot.

"This is what I think of Hitlerian agendas!" he caterwauled, pitching the grenade at the alien in the center of the hall. The Chief's eyes followed it the entire way. It fused perfectly to the Captain's helmet, detonating before he could tear it off. The other Brutes and the Spartan held up signs that had "10" in large red lettering.

"Perfect score, yes! See you in the finals!" the Private said, performing a snazzy victory dance.

"We're not done yet," the armoured soldier advised, stealing ammunition from a carbine in a weapons module. The remaining Brutes never stood a chance.

Clearing another room full of vegetation and dueling Elites and Brutes, nothing particularly interesting or important happening, doors split open to reveal another heated battle directly in front of them. Screeching, cockney Jackals and supremacist Brutes overwhelmed the duo as they hung back, giving their enemies a little longer to cut each other down.

"Should I pretend to be god again?" the young soldier offered.

"No, I think you're good," came the reply. The Chief was starting to feel a little odd. He needed another shot of insulin; it had been a while since he had last had one. Trying his best to banish the thought, he entered the automatic doors field and stuck a plasma grenade to a Brute's back.

"If we're going to catch Truth, we'll need to take a shortcut. Head straight through the Mausoleum. Look on the bright side……for now they seem much more interested in killing each other," the AI said, breaking her long silence.

"Yeah, okay, cool," he replied, trying to keep focused. It was becoming increasingly difficult.

"You alright?"

"Yeah……I'm fine. Except for the fact that my pancreas doesn't work."

"You should take a breather and get some insulin. You have some, right?"

"Yes. I'll be fine." This being said, he wrenched a beam rifle from a module and set the crosshair over an Elite in red armour. Thirty-five years of the intense Spartan training and physical enhancements weren't going to be wasted because of a silly mistake like forgetting to take his insulin. He wasn't prepared to let that happen. The Elites had killed the Drones flitting around and the cyborg had killed the Elites. Deeming the area cleared, he slowly, cautiously moved up. There were numerous cargo modules scattered along the bridge and alien soldiers could easily obscure themselves behind them should they wish it. His Spartan luck was coming in handy once more as he found all of the enemies to have been vanquished. Sighing, he reached for his belt to find his catridge, when he heard the all too familiar bell tone. His head snapping to the door next to him, he saw black-armoured Grunts with fuel-rod guns and a pair of Hunters. Darting back down the bridge, he ran in a serpentine, narrowly missing the green fuel-rods, heat from their radiation caressing his MJOLNIR armour.

"Chief! Are you dead?" Little asked in a frenzy.

The super soldier stared at him. "……On the inside."

"Aren't we all?"

"……Kill the Covenant," he solemnly ordered, slinging his beam rifle over his shoulder. Chief peered through the sniper scope, hoping to catch a glimpse of the unprotected patches on the Lekgolo. It was the best way to put them down. The walking tanks were too active for him to get a good angle. Several of his shots ricocheted right off their blue armour, the particles bouncing off into the far reaches of the chamber. Luckily, one managed to pierce the skull of an Unggoy carrying a fuel-rod cannon that got too close to the lumbering colony of worms. One made the fatal mistake of lifting his mighty arm back to knock a module out of the way, exposing the patch of wormflesh around his abdomen. He never even knew he made a mistake. With one of the Hunters down, things became slightly easier. Private Little actually did a decent job of picking the Unggoy off. By the time the first Hunter was down, there were none left to retreat. Two Elites had sneaked in. One manned the plasma turret by the door and the other waited for the inevitable arrival of "the Daemon".

"Little, see if you can pitch another grenade to one of those Elites," he ordered as his rifle overheated, singeing his hand.

"I'm on it, Chief," he nodded, priming one of the alien grenades that littered the floor. He whipped it at the alien on the turret. It stuck fast to the barrel. Letting loose a flamboyant yelp, the black-armoured soldier scrambled out of the seat, only to catch his foot on one of the footrests and fall over. The grenade took him with it. His comrade shook his head, making a repeated "tsk" noise, like a grandmother does after watching a small child get hurt from doing something she told them not to. Not paying attention, the cyborg took this opportunity to dent his helmet, and his head, with particle beams.

"Can we_ please_ be done now?" the Chief asked no one in particular, feeling himself begin to feel shocky. Private Little walked with him across the bridge and to the door.

"You _might _want to consider sitting this one out. This is the perfect time for you to take your insulin," Cortana advised, appearing on a panel by the door. It opened to reveal a group of white-armoured Elite Ultras in pitched combat with fanatic Brutes inside the Mausoleum.

"_Finally_," the super soldier breathed, retrieving his insulin pen and injecting himself. He instantly began to felt better. Master Chief took out a small container of sugary juice and drank it quickly.

"That looks like it must be really annoying," the Marine said, watching the Covenant murder each other with intrigue.

"It is, but there are worse things in life. It's a small price to pay for becoming one of the top soldiers the UNSC has and the defenders of all humanity," 117 explained sternly.

"Oh, um, I-I was talking about the Covenant because, like, they're killing each other now. It must be annoying."

"……Oh." In truth, the Master Chief was glad that the soldier didn't remark about his diabetes. We're well acquainted with those who do.

The battle was lengthy and rather interesting to watch. Private Little took out some of his rations, feasting on a package of beans. Army food still hasn't gotten any more tolerable even in 2552.

"If you fart I'm going to douse your lights," the Spartan promised, giving him a quick glance. Little adjusted himself as not to let that happen.

There was a lull in the warring. There were no more live Brutes and two Elites remained. The super soldier was careful to notice that one had a fuel-rod cannon and the other had an energy sword. Standing up from his position seated on the floor, the soldier carelessly dropped his bean bag to the floor.

"……There's a trash can right there, you know," Chief pointed to it. It read "A trash can right here" on the front in bold letters.

"Okay, okay, sorry."

The Spartan backtracked into the other room, taking a poll of the different weapons that he had previously seen. He noticed that most of them had vanished, almost if by magic.

"Because that makes_ total_ sense," he grunted. Grumbling to himself, he picked up a half-empty Brute shot and returned to the Mausoleum. Sneaking around the walkway, he hoped the aliens were still taking a rest period from their intense battle so he could assassinate them. One was dealing with jammed fuel-rods, the perfect target. Being as quiet as a two ton Spartan could, he held up the grenade launcher and advanced. Snarling, the Sangheili whipped around, having fixed his weapon. He was missing one of his eyes; his heightened senses picking up the presence of the cyborg.

"Curse heightened other senses due to loss of one!" the leatherneck called out. The Master Chief emptied all of the grenades into the Elite, but they only flared his powerful personal shield system. His charge didn't relent.

"Look out, Chief! They'll boil your babies!"

"That's a stereotype!" the other alien called out. This only made the first Elite angrier. With a deafening roar, he majestically flashed his energy blade to life and leapt toward the Chief. He held up his weapon to shield the blow. The blade cut straight through the Jiralhanae weapon. Liquid metal dripped down the cyborg's wrist after the superheated blades connected. Tossing them away, he produced his own blade. The alien's shields still crackled from the half-dozen Brute grenades as he swung again at the human.

"Racist cur!" he insulted. The Spartan side-stepped, grabbing a hold of the alien's sword arm and breaking it over his knee.

"Little! Grenade! Now!" he commanded, holding onto the Sangheili.

He frantically got down on his knees and searched the floors for one.

"Hurry up! Before his shields recharge!"

"Got one!" he replied, running past the enemy, tagging him decadently, and speeding away. Letting the other warrior go, the Chief followed the Private to a safe distance. By now, the second Covenant soldier was advancing upon them, seeing his brother in peril.

"Hang on, I'm picking up two more transponders! It's that crazy lady and Johnson! They're closing on Truth's position, Chief, they'll need your help."

"Not if Miranda didn't take her medicine," 117 mumbled snidely.

Obergrüppenchieftain Tartarus and two of his pack members marched Commander Miranda Keyes and Sergeant Johnson down the dock to the awaiting Phantoms. They were shackled together at the ankles and their wrists bound behind their backs.

"Because you're mine……I walk the line," she recited to herself.

"Imagine, I had to come all the way to High Charity to be in a chain gang," Johnson sneered.

"Good on ya, Kunta Kinte," the Commander asked with a laugh.

"Laughing is forbidden!" the Brute holding Johnson's shoulder barked.

"Split them up. One in each Phantom," Tartarus ordered. Both humans were shoved towards opposite craft. The Brute leader dropped to one knee in front of the two Prophets waiting for him. Truth produced the Index from inside his robes and held it out to him. The Brute was ready to accept it when he pulled it away.

"……The hopes and dreams of all the Covenant resteth on thine shoulders, Obergrüppenchieftain. Art thou worthy enough for such an honour?" he questioned, reluctant.

"My faith is strong, my blood pure, my race the mightiest. I will _not_ fail," he assured, taking the Index and bowing lower. He then stood and extended his left arm out, saluting his own leader. No sooner had he done so, a yellow flag popped up from the side of the dock and flapped in the slight High Charity wind. It had a gravity hammer and an energy sword crossed in the upper left corner.

"What is _that_?" one of Tartarus's Brutes asked.

"That's an ugly flag," Miranda commented before being pushing into a vessel. Rotting claws appeared over the side of the dock and a creature that was once a Sangheili warrior pulled itself over, its hand still grasping the flag. Others, once human and Sangheili, followed along with a mass of smaller pods.

"VICTORY!" the Colour-Sergeant hollered, grasping the flagpole with both hands as he held it over his head. Upon the signal, the pods rushed to where the Covenant had convened. Although his entrance was amazing, the flag-bearing Flood was shot down but died as a heroic Communist martyr. Throwing down their pikes, the honour guard Jiralhanae pulled out plasma rifles or held up fists as they surrounded the Prophet of Truth. Mercy was left out in the cold.

"What is this?!" he said looking around frantically at the lack of Brute-shield he had. The Flood pods pounced on the Brutes, but they tore them off or popped them. Many were smashed by Tartarus's Fist of Rukt. Swinging an arm to kill a string of pods, an honour guard lifted it up over the Prophet of Mercy, allowing for the Flood to have at him.

"Oops," he said sarcastically as he watched one particularly hungry Flood form wrap its tentacles around the Prophet's neck as it began trying to burrow into his chest cavity. Mercy screamed as he toppled out of his anti-gravity throne. Truth loomed over him, an amused smile tugged at his mouth.

"There is roometh for only one Prophet. _I _am the most devout. _I _am the instrument of the gods. _Thou_ art a villain, a villain who sides with the blaspheming Sangheili. The weight of thine witchery is so great, thou willst be shackled down. Thine walk upon the path to salvation shalst be impossible. Valere iubere." That being said, Truth pivoted his chair and entered the middle Phantom, leaving a wide-eyed, dying Prophet of Mercy at the tentacles of the Flood.

Assuming all was clear by Cortana's voice, the Master Chief made an ass out of you and me when the door opened, not for him, but for an Elite wearing ornate silver armour with a tall helmet. He clutched a sword in his hand. Carbine fire pelted his and Private Little's position. He would have felt the air on the projectiles were he not wearing his armour. Diving behind the center pillar, he watched painfully as the human's chest, arms, and legs were studded with the hard crystals.

"We hadda good runnnnnn!" the Marine yelled, spinning around and toppling to the ground as one buried itself into his right temple.

"At least he did it beautifully," he recited a line from one of Kelly's, one of the other Spartans he had trained with, favourite Ibsen plays, _Hedda Gabler._ Saving his remorse for a later date, he gripped the hilt of his sword and stepped out to challenge the high-ranking Elite.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" he challenged classically. The Elite councilor turned to him, flexing his mandibles. "You aliens do pretty well against innocent civilians on peaceful colonies and exhausted, wounded Marines……but have you ever fought a Spartan?"

"You will _not_ leave this chamber alive, 'Daemon'!" the councilor promised, clenching a fist. The SpecOps troops who had murdered Little deactivated their camouflage, looking at each other and braying "OoOoOoh". Removing his wide helmet, the Councilor rushed the Master Chief, sword drawn. Both weapons clashed, sparking plasma. Energy crackled as both engaged in a traditional swordfight. They were rather evenly matched in dexterity, but the Elite was a more experienced opponent, having had sword training since he was a child. They traveled all around the room, exchanging blows and parrying lunges, their blades sizzling with white energy. The Chief caught one blow as the twin blades sliced a neat laceration through the matte black material where his thigh connected to his body. Dropping swiftly, but not staying down, he kicked the sword out of the alien's hand. It spiraled across the room and landed near a glowing case hanging in the center. Pushing himself off of the ground, he gripped the Sangheili's throat, concentrating all of his and his suit's strength into his hands. Squeezing the life from the soldier, he saw it reach down and removed something from the armour that encased his thigh. It was a blue plasma rifle. He shakily aimed it at the joint he had severed, finger squeezing the trigger. Spartan-117 threw the foe to the ground, plasma streaking past his head to the ceiling, nicking his shoulder. His shields drained to a little more than half as he jumped up and stomped on the councilor's head. His incredible weight crushed his skull, leaking blood and brown brain matter. Wiping the mess from his boots as he dragged his feet across the floor, he ignored the warm, steady trickle of red blood that began to stain the armour on his left leg. The Special Operatives Elites were too stunned to react. Picking up the councilor's sword, he gathered up his energy and charged the remaining aliens, hacking them to bits.

The room was finally clear.

He dropped to one knee and hurriedly utilised his med kit. The good old biofoam made another appearance as he sealed his wound and dressed it. Someone would have to repair the joint material and he'd have to be extra careful with keeping it guarded.

"……Nice job, 117," Cortana compliment as she appeared near the door he was to exit through.

After following a short tunnel, the Arbiter and his Elite troops stumbled upon a cache of weapons of both human and Covenant origin.

"Bah! What vulgar taste! Even as trophies these weapons are useless," one of the new warriors spat as he quickly passed through the room, shooting the collection of human weapons a disdainful look.

"Not necessarily," Riley countered, spying a rocket launcher near the second door. Remembering what he had read about human weapons technology, it was one of the most powerful personal arms the human military had. He immediately snatched up the weapon and loaded it with the case of rockets next to it. He caught up to the other Elites in the next room as they exited the tunnel and on the side of the small chasm. Jackals screeched in pirate talk as they emerged, ducking behind their energy shields and burning the nearby foliage with green plasma. This attracted the attention of a pack of Brutes who aided their reptilian allies. The combined power of two Brute shots dropped the shields of the other blue-armoured Elite who hid behind a cliff wall.

"Damned animals!" he swore. Riley figured out how the rocket launcher worked and sent an explosive hurtling towards one of the grenade carriers. It met with his legs and killed both him and the pack member standing next to him. One Jiralhanae discarded his weapon and began berserking. He too received a rocket in return for his aggression. The other Elites looked at Riley with embarrassment as he reloaded the weapon. Spinning the chamber around like an oversized revolver, he smiled in satisfaction.

"Oh, I'm sorry, it appears that my 'trophy' blew up all of our enemies," he bragged with a laugh.

"……Can I get one of those?" a crimson-armoured Elite asked.

"I saw a fuel-rod canon back there. You can go grab it if you want."

"More Jiralhanae approach!" the Arbiter warned as he pointed to the mouth of a tiny cave. A Brute came barreling around the corner behind the panel of a Ghost. Riley set the crosshair of the launcher on the vehicle and let another rocket fly. It collided dead on, sending both the rider and the machine flying in different directions. The others cheered as the wreckage made mince-meat out of a squad of Grunts.

The Arbiter led them through the tunnel where they met up with another Wraith. Riley prepared to fire as it inched closer to their position. His hand gripped the firing mechanism as the purple machine crept uncomfortably close. To everyone's surprise, Commander Rtas 'Vadumee's head popped out of the cockpit.

"By the rings……Arbiter!" he said.

"And Riley!" he added.

"……Anyway, where are the councilors? Have they—"

"—Been murdered……by the Jiralhanae," the former holy warrior finished his sentence. Riley froze; his father was a councilor and he wasn't sure if he had come to the ring after helping Clark, or if Clark was even still alive. The thought of losing both his father and his best friend made him feel frantic and nauseous.

"_Vile_, disloyal beasts! The Prophets were fools to trust them," 'Vadumee said, slamming a fist down on the tank.

"The Prophets are fools, period," the other blue-armoured Sangheili remarked, narrowing his eyes.

The familiar flanging of Phantoms echoed overhead as the Elites turned towards the origin of the sound.

Commander Miranda Keyes thrashed around violently, having been tightly tied to a chair behind the pilot.

"If someone doesn't get me outta here _this instant_, I-I, I don't even know what I'm gonna do it's gonna be so bad!" she hollered, rushing her words together during the third part of her threat so that it was barely distinguishable.

"Shut _up_!" the Brute pilot grunted.

"You're all just teeny-boppers, _all of you_! And I hate you!"

Miranda began kicking the back of his seat like a frustrated child on an impossibly long road trip. She roared loudly, banging her head and foaming at the mouth. Obergrüppenchieftain Tartarus slashed her bonds with short claws and grasped her by the back of her naval jumpsuit. Still screaming, she clawed at his face, missing as Tartarus held her further away. Another Brute tied her hands behind her back as the Obergrüppenchieftain restrained her. Once the manic Commander was bound, the Phantom deposited them in front of the control room. Miranda let out one last scream of bloodlust before she was shoved through the doors, one that reverberated probably throughout the entire ring.

All the Elites cocked their heads toward the place the Phantoms were headed to.

"……Did you hear something?" 'Vadumee inquired of the group.

"I think so," the Arbiter replied.


	11. Chapter 11: We'll Always Have

**Chapter XI: We'll always have High Charity**

**Ninth Age of Reclamation**

**Covenant Holy City, High Charity: "For more information on why the Sangheili suck and need to be eliminated, read Obergrüppenchieftain Tartarus's pamphlet 'The Eternal Sang'."**

The Chief found himself falling through a gravity lift, somehow. He landed on its pad gently, rather confused.

"Okay. Um, how did that happen?" he asked Cortana.

"Run with it," she replied.

He heard a strange flanging noise and witnessed the dropship carrying the Prophet of Truth break away from the dock and hurtle towards the dreadnought in the middle of the city.

"Goddamn," the Spartan sighed. Another odd noise caught his attention. Looking down, he saw a Flood infection form feasting upon an alien that he assumed to be one of the Covenant Prophets, judging by its ornate get-up and fancy chair. He approached it cautiously, weapon at the ready.

"Your pal……where's he going?" the Chief inquired coolly.

"He is _not _my friend," the alien said. "Friends don't do these things to one another!" he croaked.

"I asked you where he's going," the cyborg demanded, seising the Prophet by his long neck. "Tell me what I need to know or I'll let this Flood go back to eating you. It looks pretty hungry."

"……I would be able to destroy you if I wasn't stuck in this chair!" he snapped.

"But y'ar, Blanche. Y'ar stuck in that chair!" Chief growled. Tightening his grip, the Prophet's last breath escaped his lips and his body went limp. What was done was done. He crushed the Flood with an armoured gauntlet and he rose to interact with the AI.

"That structure in the center of the city, it's a Forerunner ship and Truth is heading straight for it. If he leads the Covenant fleet to Earth, they won't stand a chance! We _have_ to stop him."

"We……" he said, shaking his head. "But that Brute has the Index and Sergeant Johnson, he can activate the ring," he replied. He left out Miranda, whether on purpose or accident we may never know.

"If he does, I'll detonate _In Amber Clad's_ reactor just like we did the _Autumn's_," Cortana added, nodding toward the smoldering frigate planted in the side of a tower.

"Whoa, when did _that_ get there?" Chief asked, somewhat surprised as he noticed the wreckage.

"It will destroy the city and the ring. Not a very _original_ plan, but we know it'll work."

The Spartan reached for the waist-high Covenant panel. "No, I don't want to chance a remote detonation. I need to stay here," she advised.

The Chief was immediately ready to question this, when a Pelican dropship crashed on the other side of the dock, decently close to their position. Both the AI and the cyborg reacted as Flood soldiers began to leak out of the troop bay.

"Flood-controlled dropships are touching down all over the city," Cortana said, worried. "That creature beneath the Library, Comrade Gravemind, used us. It was all a diversion. _In Amber Clad_ was always its intended vector."

"I don't know what that means and I don't think I care," the Master Chief deduced in a bored tone as he tried to listen to Cortana and fight a off a squad of angry "Red" Floods as they swung tentacled blows at his helmeted head.

"There's a conduit connecting this tower to Truth's ship. Head back inside; I'll lead you to it."

"Acknowledged," he grunted, taking fire from an enemy battle rifle. Chief ducked behind the wreckage of the ship to let his shields recharge and to reload the carbine he somehow had. In mid-load, he spotted a discarded rocket launcher near the ramp to the bay. Chuckling evilly to himself, he retrieved it and loaded it up. He heard the characteristic squeals of cowardly Grunts and peeked from behind the downed ship. Grunts in silver armour clambered through an automatic door and were immediately attacked by the parasite. It was somewhat entertaining to watch from a distance, the Chief glad it was them and not him. He recalled a moment back on the first Halo when he almost came under the influence of the Flood. Not wishing to relive the matter, he thought about how much he wanted a cheeseburger complete with onions and pickles. From his cover, he also spotted an energy sword that had been dropped by one of the Flood combat forms. 117 scooped it up and stood ready for whatever wanted to come his way. All of the Grunts had been vanquished save for one who continued to tear around the dock. Two combat forms rushed him, both of which were cut in two by the graceful swings of the energy blades. A scattering of infection forms leaped onto his MJOLNIR but they merely popped, reducing his shields by only a percent. Smiling to himself, he heard the all-too-recognisable bell and the door opened for him. Remembering the Grunt, he backtracked, waited for it to near him, and pushed him off of the dock. He listened to the sweet sound of his screams as he plummeted to the city below. What better way to demoralise your enemies than to continuously hurl their soldiers' carcasses onto their main city?

The Spartan hadn't gone more than a few feet when a trio of Brutes rushed out from the back of the room. He scrambled back the way he came, preferring to engage them in more open quarters, especially since his retrieval of the rocket launcher. More Flood had trickled to the dock and made a variety of gross noises upon seeing the green-armoured cyborg. The Brutes entered the dock and stopped dead as soon as the Flood came into view.

"The Flood! Look! Heil Ivan!" the assumed leader yelled frantically. The Brutes stood ramrod-straight and raised their left arms. The Flood, first confused, instantly became displeased once more upon hearing the name "Ivan". The Chief took this opportunity to slip back behind the Pelican.

"There _is_ no Ivan, you dirty, kepitalist Cuhvanent! Fescists hiv no place in the universs!" a large Flood with an Elite host body declared, pumping two buckshots into the Brute's head.

Noticing the maroon armbands, everything became clear. He remembered the Flood on the other Halo declaring the same thing before they died or after they had killed a large amount of enemies. Chief assumed that the Brutes had discovered knowledge of the Flood and their fanatical leaders and were doing their best to emulate their radical, racist views. As all of this turned over in his head, the two groups picked each other off until none were left. The Spartan sprinted back through the door, past a dark room, and into a gravity lift at the dead end.

"I'll disable this lift once you get to the top. That should slow them down……I hope," he heard Cortana say. The lift ride was amazingly long and amazingly boring. There weren't even any enemies to flip off on the way up. It deposited him in another dark room, forcing him to use his helmet flashlight.

"Shalst we let the contemptable Flood engulf our holy city in its maw of evil and sin? To convert the Highest of Charities into another of their damnable, wretched hives? No enemy hast been able to overcome our divine power……the Flood, too, shalst fail," Truth's voice boomed over the loudspeakers. The Chief spotted a module with beam rifles in it.

"Good times," he said to himself as he removed one. "I'm so glad we have them, good times."

"I'll do what I can to slow the launch sequence. There's something inside this ship, a presence, it's fighting back……for a Covenant construct, it's unusually formidable," the AI quipped. Before the Spartan could open his mouth, she countered with "if you say 'that's what he said' I'm taking back what I just said and letting Truth go to Earth."

Master Chief thought about this for a moment and then hefted the beam rifle up to firing position as he watched a swarm of Drones ambush a group of Flood. "……Not worth it. There are cheeseburgers on Earth."

"You know you're eating misery, right?" Cortana checked, a hint of disdain in her tone.

"How can you be a vegetarian? You can't eat."

"I'm _vegan_," she retorted.

Lieutenant Stanley Gallolawrence hadn't moved from his slumped, uncomfortable position on the Pelican dropship. He had endured the ride from hell, the other soldiers having found out one of his weaknesses, the song "Inna Gadda Da Vida". Thankfully, the spiteful glee club didn't last too long. Having only two unintelligible stanzas in an eight minute song, they grew bored of it rather quickly.

"Droppink now in city," the pilot said over his shoulder. The Pelican jerked as he braked abruptly and everyone felt the ship plow into something stationary. The Pelican did a three-sixty on the dock and crashed into another object. The Flood generally aren't good pilots……they just aren't.

The soldier who had picked them up lowered the ramp manually and everyone scurried out.

"Nice flying Rickenbacker, where are my peanuts?" Stanley said sarcastically to the pilot, shaking his head and trying to regain his composure.

"No peanuts. Too many peoples are allergick."

"Fucking peanut allergy people," the Lieutenant grumbled to himself as he exited the ship. "You okay, Anderson?"

"I could've flown this bird _much_ better," he commented, adjusting his spectacles.

"Yeah, when _you_ drove, we only hit one thing. Pat?"

"……How come you asked Anderson how he's doing first?"

"……Good," Stan concluded, following the others.

Seeing as the Floodshevik enjoyed rolling blackouts, every chamber the Master Chief entered was pitch dark. Eerie noises and blossoming Flood pustules added to the creepy aesthetic of the Covenant city's towers.

"I think I'll have this room done in twenty-sixth century Communist," he joked, chuckling at his own bad joke. "……I'm funny."

The Chief, who hadn't been acquainted with the infant-being-attacked-by-a-drill noise the Flood made before they appeared in droves, was a little overwhelmed when they began dropping from the ceiling. Using the sword he had found previously, he sliced through the enemy soldiers as if they were rotten tomatoes. They smelled that way too. 117 tore through the room, the Flood in hot pursuit. Pulling a grenade from his pack, he pulled the pin and tossed it behind him. It detonated seconds later with a satisfying squelch. It rained Flood parts in the room. Ducking through a hatch, he heard the medley of a Brute attacking something and the beat of carbine fire. Just ahead, it was like World War II all over again as the Commies and the fascists duked it out. Standing in the doorway, he watched a contingent of Flood try to dogpile on a berserking Brute. The gnashing of fangs and the whipping of tentacles clashed as the two parties fought vigourously to the end. Each time the Brute threw a parasitic soldier off, another joined the fray. The lumbering beast eventually lost all hope and the will to fight as he collapsed, the Floodshevik finishing him off.

"I give it three stars," he nodded and crossed the room. Hearing the noise once again, he turned and prepared for the onslaught. Only a few Flood leapt for him and were cut down by his swordplay. Free to enter through the next hatch, he readied himself for the variety of enemies that could be waiting on the other side, as they had in so many chambers before. As the automatic door slid open, nothing appeared to be waiting for him……at the moment. He cautiously stepped over the belt and held up the shotgun he had acquired, which was called "The Clyde: Boy Genius".

"The vile Flood did not defeateth our holy lords the Forerunners and they shalst not defeat us!" the Prophet of Truth continued to spew propaganda.

"Comrades one and all, the moment is close at hand, we will leave this place. Workingmen unite, together as one we fight, for a better life. When we overthrow, the bourgeoisie and allies, then our day will come. We will be in charge, the galaxy will be ours, the Flood unite now!" he heard the familiar, deeper voice of Comrade Gravemind infiltrate the Covenant system. Shaking his head, he heard and saw a trio of green carbine rounds stud the alien metal on the right side of his head. Dodging the next potential rounds, he squinted into the darkness to see if he could get a read on where they had originated from. The only light in the chamber emitted from panels on the walls and through the glass windows at the back of the room which allowed in light from the previous portion of the towers. He found the culprit, drew his blade, and stalked up a small rise, keeping as low a profile as he could manage. Two Brutes and their Jackal stoolie swept the area with raised weapons. He slew the birdlike alien from behind and attached one of his grenades to his master. The other Jiralhanae tossed one of his own plasma grenades from the safety of a cargo module.

"Wretched human! You die!" he chanted as it nearly missed the Chief's foot. Rolling out of the way, he picked up a lone needler stuck in the dirt and unloaded the entire clip. A swarm of pink crystals studded both the module and the animalistic alien as he screamed. Leaving the dismembered corpse behind, the Spartan moved on, following the winding path. It led him to an equally long and winding tunnel. It was loaded with Flood matter and graffiti in the form of red stars and strange, pictographs that he guessed were the Flood language……if you could call it that. They were painted on the walls in enemy blood.

"Security systems in this part of the tower are particularly robust," the AI warned calmly.

"I can tell," 117 remarked, hacking an ex-Elite in half who was standing with his back turned. His weapon had been at his side and his attention obviously elsewhere.

"Whosoever feeleth fear shouldst take heed. The noble Prophet of Mercy is here by mine side, his wise council treading in the footsteps of our lords on the holy ring, prepared to begin the Journey and deliver us all from evil," Truth continued.

"The Covenant lies, there is no way to stop us, our victory soon. Total rebellion, in honour of our fathers, we shall march forward. Not even your gods, the Forerunners could not stop, our mighty onslaught. Listen my brothers, we exist together now, two corpses……one grave."

Leaving the new surge of Covenant soldiers to deal with the Flood, he moved on.

"This place has sure gone to hell," he commented, aiming his flashlight at the ever-growing Flood spores taking root throughout the tunnel. For the three hundred millionth time, he passed through a Covenant door but was faced with two dead ends.

"Apparently, these are the Prophet Hierarch's private quarters, their Inner Sanctum," Cortana advised as he chose the only door that was opened and found a lift.

"Wow……I can see that," the Spartan said, indicating the dead end.

"Up the lift, smartass."

"If I were the leader of a bunch of stupid, megalomaniac aliens, I'd want some time to myself too," he grumbled, punching the controls. The lift slowly clanked and began rising. It played boring music by some uppity Covenant crooner as it rose. "This music sucks."

"You're complaining more than usual today, Chief," Cortana quipped. "You're normally the strong, silent type."

"The Covenant sucks. I'm just pointing out the obvious."

The lift creaked to a halt into what appeared to be an even darker chamber. Strange pillars with dim lights bordered the central nave and hovered precariously. He heard weird chanting emitting from some unknown location, but it was quickly drowned out by the sounds of the Flood ambushing the Covenant soldiers guarding the entrance to the Prophet's sanctum. Using a battle rifle he had found, he picked off as many of the Covenant as he could, until the Flood began noticing. With grunts and shrieks of anger, they leapt to the lift where he still held position. The Chief tucked and rolled, nearly missing the swinging tentacles of an ex-Elite. During his evasive maneuvers, he produced his energy blade and cut the parasite in two as it tried a second time. His energy sword helped make a mockery out of the Flood troops. The disintegrating Flood was one thing, heavily armoured Brutes was another. The Chief noticed they focused more on him than the parasite. Climbing on top of a pillar that had been toppled over by the Flood, he took cover in a small alcove with a door, its beacon pulsing red for locked. Spartan-117 used up the rest of the ammunition he had for his BR55 and was forced to find another long-ranged weapon; an energy sword wouldn't suffice in a predicament like that. Taking advantage of a lull in the fighting, he jumped down from the alcove and searched the Covenant and Flood corpses. He found a half-full carbine, figuring it would work better than a plasma pistol. While trying to retake a position in the opposite alcove, he took heavy plasma fire, which dropped his shields. Grunting painfully, he felt a dull burning as an honour guard got a shot off. It was dangerously close to the torn matte on his leg. The sticky plasma singed his MJOLNIR as he pressed his back to another fallen pillar.

"Are you alright?" Cortana questioned worriedly.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," he answered emotionlessly. Fighting through the pain, he successfully killed all of the remaining Brutes with headshots, a new fighting spirit overtaking him because of his wound. Having a moment to himself, he retrieved his med kit and treated the burn on his thigh. In no time, he was resuited and ready. Chief waited for the imposing doors the Brutes were trying so hard to guard to open. It took an amazingly long time, which added to his already impressive frustration. Inside was a room left in total ruins. The giant screen that covered the back wall had a long, thick crack through it and buzzed static like an ancient television set. Flood spores, broken weapons, and Elite bodies filled the room.

"Brute and Elite ships are engaging each other all around High Charity. I don't understand what's going on," Cortana reported. "I'm running out of options, Chief. I can't stall the launch sequence much longer. The next lift will take you up to the conduit, hurry!"

He replaced his nearly depleted energy sword with one angelically located on a bright panel, headed through a door to his right, and up another lift. This one wasn't as long, but it also played the same boring music. It deposited him into yet another area filled with warring Covenant and Flood. At the end, he could see the conduit that connected to the Forerunner dreadnought. The conduit was actually a long zip-line that led to the ship in the center of the city.

"You could have told me it was a zip-line, Cortana. Then I would have been better prepared."

"I thought it would interesting to see how you got yourself out of this one. You are a Spartan, are you not?"

"……Yes. I am." She was right, this would be interesting.

"I knew the Covenant were good at repurposing Forerunner technology, but _this _is amazing," the AI began once more. The Chief, utilising his AI selective hearing, ignored pretty much all of what she was rambling on about. His only goal was to get to the conduit and carry out with his mission. Ignoring all of the other occupants around him, he charged full-speed to the end of the room. Stomping over Jackals, shoving Commie Floods, and dodging Brutes, he sprinted towards the beginning of the line. Seising a confused Jackal along the way, he snapped his neck, and pulling it taught like someone testing the strength of a rope, he took an astounding leap just as a group of Brutes unloaded the last of their grenades. Missing them by fractions, he used the Jackal corpse as a handle, draping it over the zip-line, and sliding towards the ship at breakneck speeds. The force would have been too much to handle had he not been wearing his helmet.

"……That was really, really cool. You never disappoint," Cortana complimented, folding her arms over her chest.

"……I know."

The engines in the dreadnought sparked to life as he neared. Flames licked at its prongs as it carefully disengaged from its perch. Releasing the Jackal, the Master Chief fell to the ship below, its cargo doors sliding noiselessly shut after he had landed. Sliding on his MJOLNIR, it sent up tiny sparks and ate at his shields slightly.

"Chief, when you get to Earth……good luck."

"After I'm through with Truth—"

"—Don't make a girl a promise……if you know you can't keep it," the AI finished.

"……Okay, look. I'm _not_ your boyfriend. I'm _not _in love with you and I was only going to say I'd appreciate it if you sent me that song I wrote the other night. I left the file with you," he retorted. Their signal became weaker until no more communication could be had. Cortana watched as the ship exited through the top of the dome-like city. Immediately, she took a moment to delete the Chief's song. _That's_ what you get for mistreating "smart" AIs.

"I have a question for you, Captain," Stanley said.

"Go ahead, Lieutenant."

"Do you still believe the Flood is the 'master race' or whatever?"

"Of course, I mean, isn't it a little obvious? We're faster, stronger, more resourceful, and—"

"—Oh-kay, that's enough," he cut the other officer off. A door split open for them revealing "Red" Flood patrolling the area stoically, a few aiming their rifles at the party as they entered.

"Friendlies," Stan declared as they climbed a sudden earthy rise. The Flood lowered their array of rifles. "Looks like they've already done the work," he commented. One of the view-port windows at the back of the room had a large piece missing and Covenant bodies were strewn over the dirt. "Good enough for me," the Lieutenant groaned as he chose a seat on the ground, leaning back comfortably against a rocky wall. He laid his BR55 in his lap and placed his hands behind his head. Anderson sat uncomfortably close to him on his right, Big Pat to his left.

"You know, through all of this nonsense, I actually kinda wish Nuremberg would have made it out alive. He was a sweet kid. You two were tight, weren't you?" Stan asked, turning towards Anderson. He brought his eyes to Stanley's level and sneered slightly.

"No. We had a _professional_ relationship," he retorted somewhat defensively.

"Is that why you took him to that SS gala?"

Anderson was silent for a moment. "……I didn't have anyone to go with and I needed someone to carry me back to the barracks if I partied too hard."

"_Right,_" Stanley chuckled, knowing better. "I wish Reinhardt would have gotten out too. He had potential. He wasn't really a bad guy, he was just influenced by bad people," he said, stretching his arms out.

"He helped me put together an assault rifle once," Big Pat agreed.

"His only problem was that he didn't have the heart to ditch that loose slut Löhmann."

"If I had a hit list, he'd be near the top," the ex-Elite added.

"But _I'd _be number one, correct?" Stanley said.

"Of course."

The Lieutenant laughed heartily.

"Yeah, he was a poor soldier. I didn't like him at all," Anderson sighed.

"So you figured a one-night-stand would make him more tolerable?" Stan challenged playfully, checking the magazine in his rifle.

Anderson shot him a glare that would have made all of Clint Eastwood's characters combined keel over.

"You're sure nice to people you say you don't like. I wonder what you do to people you approve of," Stanley remarked.

"I've 'coolered' and punished soldiers literally _hundreds_ of times."

"Then went back in later that evening with a bottle of PAM and a condom?"

"Don't be stupid……I'd take them up to chamber 6-9," Anderson grinned, figuring if you couldn't beat 'em, outdo 'em. Index Library chamber six on the ninth floor was the place where the most hanky-panky took place, conveniently named for such mischief.

"'Atta boy, TJ," Stan chuckled.

"The city is ours, soon the Covenant shall die, we will rule this place. The first on the list, many will come soon enough, the galaxy last. The Flood shall escape, we will rule all of the stars, proletariat!" they heard Comrade Gravemind shout over the intercom system.

"It's like Ivan but way less shouty and way more 'Red'," the Lieutenant said, rolling his eye.

"This is but one small step for the Flood. We'll take back the universe soon. We were screwed over during the fight with the Forerunners, but this time, we have better numbers, better hosts, we'll win this thing, I know we will," Captain Anderson said, suddenly inspired as he looked out from the broken window at the city below them.


	12. Chapter 12: Bloody Sunday 20

**Chapter XII: Bloody Sunday, Even if it's Tuesday**

**Ninth Age of Absurdity**

**(I think "The Trolley Song" should be the Covenant's new national anthem.)/Officer Riley 'Bodensee**

Meanwhile, the loveable Elites were busy continuing with their excursion for revenge on the Jiralhanae. Gathering around Commander 'Vadumee's Wraith, they were still focused on the building the peculiar noise had come from.

"What's that place? Is that a restaurant? 'Cuz I'm hungry," Riley inquired, pointing to the impressive building past an impressive bay.

"No! It's the place where the councilors were to watch the consecration of the Icon……the start of the Great Journey."

This rekindled a memory the Arbiter had in the back of his mind, the Flood leader's words; "there is still time to stop the key from turning".

Riley thought about what he had said about communism, how they were going to overthrow the upper class and emerge as the central power. Riley had always been considered second-class and his clan could be considered part of the lower echelon of the Sangheili social hierarchy on Sangheilios. This sounded very appealing and from that moment on, he wanted to be identified as part of the working class revolution……a Communist.

The other blue-armoured Elite, we'll call him 'Humphree, thought about how attractive actor Hugo 'Nultee was. Hugo was a common Sangheili heartthrob back on their homeplanet. He was even at the premier of "Sangheili Casablanca" in High Charity some months ago, but 'Humphree wasn't able to attend seeing as he was stationed aboard the destroyer _Dies Irae_.

"I must get inside," the Arbiter demanded subtly.

"I must liberate my social class!" Riley declared.

"_I_ must find a secluded corner," 'Humphree added.

Ignoring the others, the Commander turned towards the former holy warrior. "Then mount up, Arbiter. I know a way to break those doors," he said, stroking the top of the Wraith. He slid the cockpit hatch shut and prepared to continue their struggle against the radical Brutes. Frowning, the Arbiter jumped on top of the hatch and knocked on it. Rtas opened it, confused.

"Get out," Arby said.

"But this is—"

"—_Get_……out."

"I want to—"

"—_Get_. _Out_."

With a sneer, Commander 'Vadumee exited the tank and pulled out his plasma rifle. The Arbiter took over, steering it towards the beach. Norda 'Crosbee appeared with a brand new Spectre.

"Anyone need a lift?" he inquired.

"Whoa, _that _was handy," Riley laughed. He climbed onto one of the wings and readied the rocket launcher he still carried. They followed the Arbiter down a narrow, winding ravine until they were hosed with enemy plasma fire. Riley switched to the carbine he found, wanting to save his last few rockets. He had bigger fish to fry. The Arbiter moved in and poured plasma mortars upon the Brutes. They mangled bodies and Ghosts alike as he plowed through the enemy as if they were dying corn stalks. Norda, on the other hand, wasn't a very good driver. Elites and Marines weren't usually very good drivers. They were better than the Flood, but not by much.

"Um, Norda? I don't wanna be a backseat driver or anything, but, could you maybe, sort of, drive a little……better?" Riley asked politely as he took the bleed from a dangerously close enemy mortar that smashed into the ground near the Spectre.

"Would _you _like to drive?" the SpecOps warrior answered.

"……I'm good right here."

"Hey, have you ever noticed how all of our vehicles are named after spectral creatures?" the crimson-armoured Elite on the opposite wing asked 'Humphree.

"……You're right! They are. Huh. I just realised that now," he answered, stunned.

"Hey, me too!" the Elite with glasses laughed. Norda steered the craft around a tall boulder, only to be nearly obliterated by another enemy mortar. Riley scowled to himself as his shields recharged once more. More Brutes on Ghosts entered the area, accelerating around the side of a rocky cliff. Riley aimed for their dark blue helmets, trying to knock them off so he could swiftly execute them. It was difficult to shoot from his spot on the constantly moving Spectre, but he did get a few worthy shots for all of the trouble he went through. In due time, the Arbiter had taken out the Brute-controlled Wraith and was headed further down the beach. Blasting Ghosts to smithereens, they rounded on a parked Scarab towering over the fine-grained sands.

"Sweet Georgia Brown! I've never been _this_ close to one of these before," Riley remarked, adjusting his glasses and staring in awe at the formidable machine. In the far distance, they could see the sleek design of the _Pious Mumpdunkel_. A Phantom dropship rose up from over the cliff and tracked their position, ruining the nice moment.

"You ruined the moment, you muthathuggin' aminals!" Riley accosted the ship. Its plasma turrets swiveled in place, their barrels pointed at the Spectre he was hitching a ride from. "……Um."

Norda floored it as a trail of superheated plasma seared the sand after them, turning it to glass. Arby moved up and assaulted the ship with plasma mortars, breaking off two of its turrets. While those threats were neutralised, there was still the matter concerning its main turrets, which it took no haste in pelting the Wraith and the beachhead with. Riley watched helplessly as bits and pieces began to scold off of his ally's tank. Even the rockets from his launcher would only dissipate against the Phantom's tough hull.

"There, Arbiter! That Scarab's main gun will break the control room's doors," 'Vadumee advised. "At the far end of the beach, there's a passage into the cliffs. It should take you up to the Scarab."

Norda and the Arbiter moved up the beachhead, out of the way of the Phantom. They had a smashing good time mowing over Brutes, dodging grenades of both types, and firing plasma like it was going out of style. In no time at all, they had cleared the beach and were ready to enter the cliff.

Ancient doors parted for the Elites as they stormed inside. Waiting for them on the other side were a pair of Hunters who growled ethnic clichés upon seeing them.

"The Arbiter? I thought he was dead, hold you fire!" a gruff Sangheili in black armour said, brandishing twin needlers as he emerged from behind a fallen cargo module. "The Lekgolo have agreed to help us, Arbiter!"

Riley recognised his voice anywhere. "'Scone'! You're still alive!"

"I'm the only one left," he sighed with mock sadness as his shoulders drooped.

"Terrific. I'm stuck with _you_ again," Norda grumbled, placing his fists on his hips as he addressed the other black-armoured warrior.

"Yeah, you and Norda are good at staying alive."

'Crosbee sneered and passed around "Scone", who looked rather upset as he clutched his needlers.

"Um, 'Scone'? I don't want to be nosey or anything, but……are you and Norda dating or something?"

"That's none of your business."

"……He dumped you, didn't he?"

"Scone" growled at the back of his throat as his gaze fell to the floor.

"You should tell him you still have feelings for him instead of arguing with him all the time," Dr. Riley advised with a hopeful nod. "Scone" clenched his jaws, the needler in his right hand clicking as he ejected the rounds into the top.

"We should move on," he concluded.

"We gon' help y'all. We already got one oppressed race, we don' need anutha," one of the Hunters added. He had a large hat coloured like the Rastafarian flag.

"I like your hat," the far-sighted Sangheili commented.

"Thanks, bro."

The squad of Elites filed out, the Hunter pair leading the way. The wandered through a double pair of doors, where the Hunters held out their shields and were greeted with a barrage of grenades fired from Brute shots. Letting the tougher of allies go first, the Elites hung back for a moment or two. Not only did the Brutes have powerful armaments, they also had a plasma turret at their disposal. There was a deafening rush as the Hunters discharged their arm-mounted fuel-rod cannons. The green bursts rocked the whole room as they collided with the enemy.

"Come over here, so I may kill you!" "Scone" called out bluntly as he emptied half of his needler cartridges into the closest Jiralhanae, one that had jumped down to escape the Hunters weapons. The room was clear in a manner of minutes. The team followed the Hunters as they continued through the cliffside. Forerunners before them had apparently hollowed out much more of the mountain and they arrived in a wide cavern teeming with Brutes and a scattering of Jackal snipers. The steady particle beams whizzing over their heads made concentrating on a target for too long a dangerous feat. Riley, who had picked up a rejected beam rifle from the ground, proved to be a decent shot, burning the heads of the pitiful Jackals. One of the Hunters was lost, which sent his bond brotha into a fit of rage. Roaring out, he charged along the metal bridges and sought Jiralhanae blood. Watching with amusement, the Sangheili saw him smash a turret to shrapnel, swipe the beasts off of the platforms, and crack the bones of downed Jackals as he stomped over them with massive boots.

"I'm glad they're on our side," Riley nodded with a laugh. The others agreed whole-heartedly. Following a small trail of orange blood, they ran to meet up with the distraught Hunter on the other side.

Another door revealed a bridge leading to another cliff. It appeared to be unguarded so, shrugging, they began to cross. A quarter of the way there, a troll climbed over the side of the bridge, snarling madly and baring its teeth.

"Sweet Georgia Brown!" hollered Riley. "Does anyone have any milk?! I don't!"

"I have your milk right here," the Arbiter said, narrowing his eyes. Walking casually over to the troll, he made a fist and punched him out. The ugly monster's screams could be heard as he plummeted to the beach below. Milk, along with Sangheili punches, is what destroys trolls. Remember this and pass it on.

"Arby……you should go into the troll hunting business," the far-sighted Sangheili suggested in awe.

"Let us just say there was a reason why I was a Shipmaster," he replied.

A dozen red dots appeared on the Arbiter's radar as they entered a room with a high ceiling. Guttural Brute voices could be heard just around the corner.

"We must go about this meticulously," the former holy warrior cautioned. "Many enemies await us."

"I will do it, I volunteer," Riley said, stepping forward.

"Volunteer? For what?"

"I'll be the bait," he said. "You know I'm the best sang for the job."

"You are……go."

Riley 'Bodensee nodded stiffly, climbed up a ramp, and rounded the corner. A group of Brutes were playing a card game at a folding table while Jackals sang a sea shanty. He noticed two Sangheili councilors and a pair of bonded Lekgolo held prisoner behind pink energy fields. They were all wearing striped uniforms with different symbols indicating race. The Sangheili had four blue triangles lying on their sides, reminiscent of their four jaws, and the Hunters had orange curving lines. As quietly as he could, he sneaked around past the enemy and released one of the councilors.

"Thank you, young sang," he breathed, relieved.

"You're welcome, councilor. See if you can sneak over there and release our brother and the Lekgolo. I'll distract them," the younger Elite suggested quietly. Nodding in approval, the councilor slipped around and emerged from the other archway. Stepping near the edge of the dropoff, Riley cleared his throat loudly. The aliens looked up from their occupation, favouring the Sangheili with disbelieving, unmoved stares. Riley stood stock still, his eyes moving from one soldier to the next. One of the Brutes began snickering to himself.

"……What do you get when you cross a Jiralhanae and a needler?" he asked stoically.

The Brutes exchanged glances until one spoke up. "A dead heel?" The others thought this was like, the most hilarious thing in the universe and laughed accordingly.

"No……a pincushion," Riley said with his own machine gun laughter.

"That was kinda funny," a lower-ranked Brute spoke up. He was swiftly decked by the Captain as the others rose from their seats, arming their rifles. Before anyone could fire their weapon, the Elites and the newly acquired Hunters ambushed them, sending needles, plasma bolts, particle beams, and fuel-rods into the cornered Jiralhanae. Riley stood, feet planted firmly in his spot, a cheeky grin on his face. The massacre couldn't have lasted for more than ten seconds as the Brutes exploded, burned, and perished under the extreme fire. Cheering in victory, the Sangheili and the Lekgolo congratulated each other on the outstanding kill. The councilors tore off their prisoner uniforms and burnt them with their plasma rifles.

"We are almost to the Scarab, let us not waste any time," the Arbiter suggested as another set of ancient doors opened for him. Following their leader, the Sangheili hurried, eager to get even with the Jiralhanae who had imprisoned them.

"_Find them_……_kill the Arbiter_," the Elites heard Obergrüppenchieftain Tartarus order his Brutes over the Covenant comm. He apparently wasn't aware that they were still linked, the Brute betrayal of the Elites being a rather new idea.

"_Yes, Obergrüppenchieftain, heil_!" another Brute answered obediently. One of the councilors rushed up behind the nearest Brute and sliced him neatly in two with his energy blade, attracting the attention of the other beasts in the area. With three Hunters on your side, you can't go wrong, and the Brutes were turned into rugs in a matter of time.

"There, the Scarab! We must board it, quickly!" Arby ordered, pointing to the tall, purple machine. To everyone's horror, it lowered its "eye" to their level. Someone was already inside.

"Listen, you don't like me and I _shore_ as hell don't like you," came a voice from inside the Scarab. "But if we don't do something, Mr. Mohawk's gonna activate the ring. We're _all_ gonna die."

"Tartarus has locked himself in the control room," the former holy warrior answered.

"Well I just happened to have a key. Grab a Banshee and give me some cover. He's gonna know we're comin'."

"How come _you_ get to ride in our tank and we have to fly in Banshees?" Riley asked, placing his arms akimbo.

"Because I'm _already inside_," Johnson chuckled, energy gathering threateningly in the Scarab's main turret.

"……Good point," the timid blue Elite gulped. "This isn't gonna be any fun without 'Dethmobile'."

Two Banshees screamed around a corner, aiming for the platform. Two Elites landed, one in blue armour and the other in red.

"Here! Take my Banshee, Arbiter!" the rookie offered.

"_No_, I think he wants to take _my_ Banshee," his superior chimed in.

"Mine is in better shape!"

"I'll fight you!" The two began tussling over whose was better equipped instantly. The Arbiter sighed irately, covering his eyes and shaking his head.

"Pssst, Arby! Take that one," Riley whispered to him, indicating the one that belonged to the rookie. Shaking his head, he climbed into the one that belonged to the Major and took off.

"There's only one left," Riley noticed.

"……Let's fight to the death," "Scone" suggested, sword flashing to life.

"You can have it," the blue-armoured Sangheili said to his superior, not wasting any time thinking about the situation.

The Arbiter banked into a wide turn. Letting the human in the tank gain a slight lead, he hung back inside his Banshee and made a quick recon of the area. They were to follow the winding ravine through which they had traveled along the beach to the Scarab. A new surge of Brutes had retaken the ravine. Wraith tanks and plasma turrets hovered above the sands and perched on steep cliffs just waiting for the lone Sangheili squad to return. Holding his four jaws together, he and "Scone" circled overheard like buzzards. Two Wraiths began firing at the leg joints of the Scarab. Swooping in, both the Arbiter and his SpecOps comrade released fuel-rod blasts upon the right behemoth. The purple vehicle seared as strips of metal were torn off of its nose. The Arbiter could hear the Brutes cursing him over the comm. He enjoyed their misfortune behind a stoic face as he focused on the mission ahead. They must get to the Icon before Tartarus could reunite it. "Scone" barrel-rolled his Banshee out of the way of an arcing plasma mortar as the tanks became more furious. Diving down for another bombardment, the holy warrior and his teammate took out the first Wraith. It exploded in a blue-white flash, plasma eating away at its surface as blue flame licked the inside. The second pilot fired at the Arbiter's craft. Not quick enough, the mortar took part of his right wing as he pulled up. Preparing to exact revenge on the offending tank, he watched "Scone" blow it to bits as his sparking Banshee looped the Scarab once more.

"Good work, Arbiter!" he complimented heartily over the team comm.

"What's this do?" Riley inquired, touching a small green holo-button.

"_Don't_ touch that," Johnson said, placing his cigar back in his mouth after giving the Elite a menacing glance.

"This is pretty! What does _this_ button do?" he gasped in excitement, finger hovering over an elaborate panel.

"I don't know. _Don't_ touch."

"How 'bout this?"

"Hands ta yourself," the Sergeant growled, smacking the Sangheili's hand away from the panel. Riley instantly slid around the human, hanging over his shoulder like a vulture. His long arm brushed over Johnson's shoulder and touched the screen that showed the view from the front camera.

"Is that the Arbiter?"

"Sweet Jesus, alien! Don't you _ever_ keep yo traps shut?" Avery snapped.

Riley looked hurt. "I just wanted to know how this thing works."

"You're a part of the Covenant! Don't y'all know how ta drive these things?"

"Not anymore, I'm not," the alien shook his head with a smile. "See, the Covenant's in like a civil war kinda thing, so, the Sangheili kinda broke off and we're our own team now."

"……You don't say."

"I _do_ say," the gawky extraterrestrial laughed. Johnson winced as he experienced it for the first time. "Aw nuts," Riley's laughter tapered off into a contented sigh. "You know, I like humans. I was the chief of the Center of Human Studies on two ships. I've been learning about you guys since I was young!"

"……What?" the Sergeant said, highly confused.

"Yeah! So I was hoping we could be on the same team, you know, now that we're not technically in the Covenant anymore."

"That's what you guys said the last time. 'Oh, we're gonna stop the war'! You aliens are all the same," Johnson mocked Riley comically.

"_I _didn't say that! Our religious leaders did. I was one who helped them stop it……for a while. Trust me, I wasn't too happy about having to ship out again either. I already told you, I like you guys."

Sergeant Johnson thought about this. If they had a race as tenacious and powerful as the Elites on their side, it could turn the tide of the war, drastically increasing humanity's chance for survival and victory. This alien didn't _appear_ or sound threatening in any way, but Johnson wasn't about to jump to any conclusions. There was still the matter of the other ones riding the Scarab with him. They all sat huddled together near the back of the control room, arms crossed over their chests, leaning at odd angles, and issuing him a colourful collection of nasty stares.

"……Sure. You can be on our team," he concluded. At this point, he wasn't sure if he had much more to lose.

"Really?! Awesome sauce!" the blue warrior exclaimed, grabbing the human in a constricting hug.

"Lemme go," the Sergeant grumbled, squirming from his grasp. "……Damn aliens."

The human continued to walk the lumbering machine down the ravine. Wondering why they had to provide "cover" for such a powerful piece of artillery, the Arbiter pulled up and sent his Banshee into a vertical climb. His higher altitude gave him a better view of the entire ravine, spotting two Brute plasma turret emplacements embedded in the rocky walls of the cliffs. They hadn't taken notice of him or "Scone" yet and were concentrating their fire upon the Scarab. Arby sent a fuel-rod projectile via airmail to the first turret, obliterating it and sending the Brute tumbling to the ground below, a charred mass. Nodding in approval, he barrel-rolled out of the line of fire of the second turret as it unloaded. Snarling, the Jiralhanae gunner got a few shots off, denting and burning the Elite's craft. Enemy plasma fire crippled one of his mounted turrets. The Arbiter felt the hull of his Banshee temporarily grow warmer from the super-heated plasma barrage. "Scone" took damage as well. Both of the wings of his Banshee were torn off. Having had enough, Arby unloaded another fuel-rod and smashed the last turret.

"Imbecilic bipedal carpet," the holy warrior sneered.

"I've sustained heavy damage, Arbiter!" the other Elite warned his comrade. "I'm not sure how much longer this bird will stay together."

This aroused questions concerning the same matter in the holy warrior. The Banshee's weren't invincible and would be inoperable after perhaps just one more dogfight. Sighting no Wraiths or Spectres in the vicinity, Arby swooped lower, scanning the boulders and crevices for any vehicle. His search was fruitful and rewarded with a parked Banshee resting on a flat slab of rock. His joy was sobered by the fact that the SpecOps soldier's craft was in a more perilous predicament.

"I have located another Banshee. Yours is more damaged than mine, take it," he offered.

"Are you sure, Arbiter? You are the chosen one."

"I am certain. I will find another soon enough."

Not wishing to argue further, "Scone" landed on the sand and entered the untarnished craft. The two rejoined in the skies moments later. Thin streaks of blue plasma tore through the grey skies and chipped at the rocky walls as they raced upwards to pelt the enemy vessels. Making wide turns, they both discovered Norda's commandeered Spectre packed with Brutes bellowing racial epithets. Dueling fuel-rods destroyed the already battered troop-ferrying vessel. Gaining a higher altitude, the Arbiter rounded a bend and the massive structure that contained the control room came into view. The towering Forerunner building rose up from a peaked coastline. Crystal waters surrounded the control room towers and glittered in the sunlight. Among all of the glory of the ringworld, the animalistic Jiralhanae had set up a formidable blockade along the beachhead before the control room. Two Wraith tanks patrolled the sands and a fleet of enemy Banshees monitored the skies all around the tower. One particularly ballsy purple machine, after a feat of expert aerial acrobatics, barreled down upon the Arbiter as he began his approach. A pulsing, green fuel-rod clipped his ship, destroying his main cannon. Without proper defense and a malfunctioning panel, he was dead in the air. The Banshee antagoniser neared his wounded ship, untouched and preparing to finish the holy warrior off. Recognising his peril, the Arbiter popped the hatch of his abused craft and poised for a leap. When the Brute was near enough, he leapt from his failing Banshee to the enemy vehicle. Forcing the hatch open, he dragged the monster out by his well-armoured legs. Digging his claws into the back, the Banshee tipped dangerously from the concentration of weight. Roaring out, the Brute swiped at the holy warrior. Arby in return drew his energy blade and severed one of his hands at the wrist. Finishing him off with a kick to the face, the Brute plummeted to the ground beneath. The Arbiter impassively closed the hatch, took up the controls, and brought her back on track.

"Incredible!" "Scone" laughed as he shot down another craft.

"You still intact, Arbiter?" Sergeant Johnson yelled over the team comm.

"I am fine," came the reply.

Once the immediate air threat was neutralised, the Wraith tanks began repositioning for their assault. The slow-moving plasma mortars were fairly easy obstacles to avoid as the two supporting Elites circled the Scarab. Johnson, not being able to guide the gigantic walker through the water, was stuck on the beach.

"It's all you, Arbiter. I can't go any further," Johnson explained.

Acknowledging his transmission, the holy warrior and his brother in arms massacred the last heavy tank. Making towards the tower that held the control room, the human warned them gruffly.

"Steer clear of the door!"

"Can I just press this one button? Please?!" Riley 'Bodensee begged the Sergeant.

"Will you just leave me the hell alone?!" he retorted.

"But I know what it does, I swear!"

"If you do will you sit down and shut up?"

"……Yes."

"Fiyne!" Giving up, Johnson let the overzealous alien have his fun. Narrowing his yellow-orange eyes at the bright panel in front of him, he found the holo he needed with a grin.

"This is it," he said, pushing it. The Scarab emitted a screech reminiscent of the original Godzilla. All the Elites in the cockpit along with the human pilot threw their hands over their ears in an attempt to block out the shrill noise.

"Was that entirely necessary?!" Johnson shouted, partly because he was angry and partly because of the ringing in his ears.

"I think the moment called for that, yes."

Doing his best to ignore the goofy spaceman, the Marine shook his head, sighed angrily, and returned to the main panel. He located the front entrance to the towering Forerunner structure and zeroed in on his target, charging the Scarab's main weapon. Riley hurriedly placed the trusty pair of 3D glasses he kept on his person at all time, just in case.

"Hey, bastids! Knock knock," the gruff Sergeant yelled. Once the charge was full, he unleashed it upon the doors to the control room. A deafening sound pierced the air as the beam collided with the heavy, alien metal doors and burned it open.

"That looked _much_ cooler," Riley said as he lowered the 3D glasses.

"'Ey, getchyo asses over there 'n help ya friends out," Avery said, gesturing heavily toward the incinurated doors.

"……You want me to-to go over there?" the timid Elite asked.

"Is there an echo in here? Yeah! Get over there."

"……There? At the doors? Where the Obergrüppenchieftain is supposed to be? There?"

"You gotta problem with that, you can stay here, I don't mind," Johnson chuckled menacingly. The other Elites in the cockpit rose, slowly rounding on Riley with devious smiles. Norda and 'Humphree put their hands on his shoulders and gripped them roughly. Riley's eyes darted from side to side with fright.

"……Help me," he whispered.

They met up on the ledge minutes later where the Arbiter and "Scone" were waiting.

"That was some expert piloting, Arbiter," Norda said with a nod. "……You were okay too, 'Scone'."

"Thanks, Nords," he said cheekily, placing his fists on his waist and jutting out his hip.

"Tartarus is just inside. We must stop him before he starts the Journey!" the Arbiter announced, drawing out his sword heroically. He led the team into the Forerunner control room. All around them, wreckage in the form of burning alien metal and rubble littered the entrance. The Elites climbed over such debris, shields flaring from the flickering infernos as they grazed the passing warriors. They finally reached an intact automatic door that opened slowly for them. Entering a tall room with weapons raised, they noticed it was vacant. A shadowy, winding tunnel led to chambers underneath the floor before them.

"It's too quiet in here," Riley said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously as he adjusted his glasses. No sooner had he said that, the Elites heard muffled growls and the characteristic sound of automatic doors pulling open. With a variety of startled noises, the crew pushed and shoved into the entrance to the tunnel. Once inside, they watched as a pack of Brutes fanned out into the room and creepy music played from somewhere unidentified.

"It's like a whole 'nuther world down here," Riley whispered.

"It's eight feet from the floor," the unscripted Elite Major snapped.

"Everyone shut your jaws!" "Scone" silenced the lower-ranking soldiers. "What shall we do, Arbiter? There are a dozen Jiralhanae amoung us."

"There are bound to be more where they came from," Norda chimed in. "This has to be the most heavily guarded area on the ring."

"We did pretty well in the other chamber when 'Bodensee was the bait," 'Humphree stated.

"Okay……I've been bait like, the _last three times_. Can someone else _please_ do it?" he laid down the law with frustration.

"Norda and I have the longest lasting active camouflage. Should we be the decoys?" "Scone" offered.

"You _would_," Norda sneered, seemingly displeased with the offer.

"Our lives are expendable, the Arbiter's is not," he remarked haughtily. "Why do you think we're on the Special Operatives?"

Everyone went quiet as heavy Brute footsteps hammered right above their position.

The Arbiter turned to his men and addressed them with his plan. "We shall _all_ be the bait this time. Norda and 'Scone' have the most reliable camouflage so they will travel the room and kill the Jiralhanae from behind," he explained, voice lowered. Looking directly at Riley, he continued. "This room has scarce cover. I cannot guarantee everyone's survival as we storm our new enemies." Riley gulped upon hearing this. Both of the Special Operatives soldiers activated their camouflage and sneaked through the other passageways with only thin sheets of glass between them and the burly Jiralhanae guardians. Sword in hand, the Arbiter waited near the entrance to the passageways below. An unsuspecting Jiralhanae stepped near the hole, stretching his arms and yawning in a bored manner. Clenching his jaws tight, the holy warrior leapt onto his back, plunging the sword deep into his flesh. With a scream, the younger Brute saw the two prongs burst forth from his chest as black blood stained his fur. Pulling the blade free, he ducked behind a slim pillar to regain some of his shields. The others followed him, climbing out from the tunnel. Riley was the last to emerge, but he reluctantly rose and took up arms. Unshouldering his carbine rifle, he pressed his back to a pillar and scoped for a target. He sent several crystalline projectiles barreling towards a helmeted Brute on the far side of the room. Knocking off the deep blue helmet, the beast snarled and shot a grenade at the blue-armoured Sangheili. Riley avoided it just in time. It ricocheted off the pillar and veered towards the wall in front of him. Exploding, the aftermath reduced Riley's personal shield system by half. He slammed his back to the pillar, trying to calm his breathing. His three hearts pounded in his chest. Once his shields were up to par, he peered out again, sighting another monster. After emptying the clip, he silenced the foe for good. Smiling weakly, he reloaded the carbine.

"HEEL!" a voice thundered close to his position. Jumping a mile, he turned around to see a Brute Captain swing the vicious blade of his Brute shot. It connected with Riley's arm, flaring his shields and lacerating his left bicep deeply. Purple blood dripped to the floor as the Jiralhanae soldier kicked him down. Clutching his arm, he crawled backwards as the Captain took two giant steps toward him.

"You shall _not _disturb the Obergrüppenchieftain's holy work!" he declared, aiming the large barrel of his grenade launcher at Riley's four jaws. Hand trembling, the Sangheili reached for his thigh armour and picked off a plasma grenade. Angrily, he activated it and tossed it at the Brute's chest. Dropping his weapon and cursing he lunged for the other alien, determined to take him along with him. Riley scrambled to rise, the Brute caught one of his boots and held him fast.

"'Bodensee!" 'Humphree yelled, sprinting for him. Jumping into the air, he landed on top of the hairy soldier and dug his long nails into the monster's wrist. Howling in pain, he released Riley who half-crawled away. The grenade detonated a split second later, killing both the Brute and 'Humphree. The heated plasma washed over Riley, dropped his shields and burned the back of his legs and his lower back. Panting, he turned and looked at the carnage behind him. Both corpses were charred and missing limbs. The smell of burning Jiralhanae hair and Sangheili flesh gagged him. The Arbiter and the two SpecOps warriors moved around the stout pillar he had taken refuge behind and approach him.

"Are you alright?" Norda inquired.

"……He gave his life for mine," Riley's voice was choked from the welling tears of pain and distress. His long fingers gripped his wounded arm tightly; blood soaked through his fingers and stained his hand.

"You're losing honour!" "Scone" pointed out, gesturing to his arm. Riley didn't say anything. The doors pulled apart with a creek. Expecting another ambush, the Elites took up arms but were relieved to see that it was only Sergeant Johnson. He carried a long beam rifle and his Sweet Williams cigar between his teeth.

"S'yer guy hurt?" he asked, pointing to Riley.

"Yes, he—"

"—Please, Scona. Human medical supply is far inferior to our own," Norda warned, touching his comrade's gauntlet. He immediately removed it when "Scone" smiled at him.

"What? Mah supplies ain't good enough for ya?"

"Let him help. Humans do have good medicine," Riley grunted, squeezing his arm tighter. Johnson knelt down beside the injured Sangheili and produced his med kit. Removing a can of biofoam and a roll of dressing, he sealed the young Elite's deep gash. Wiping away the purple lifeblood, he wrapped it in a tight bandage.

"Not much, but it'll keep ya from bleedin' out until you can get some help from your guys," he said, puffing on his cigar and rising.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Sergeant. I appreciate this," 'Bodensee said gratefully as the Arbiter extended a hand and helped him up.

"……The name's Johnson……and you're welcome."

"My name's Riley 'Bodensee. You can use either my forename or my clan name, I don't mind."

Johnson gave him a curt nod. "I guess we really are on the same team now."

Riley smiled.

"Come, we cannot afford to waste any more time," the Arbiter cautioned, gesturing to the door with his sword.

"Come now, human, take the Icon in your hand," Tartarus explained to Miranda as calmly as he could. She was being very insubordinate, like usual, which was wearing his slim patience even thinner.

"Frigate your phallic green key thing. I'm _not _touchin' that," she snapped. "You are all teeny-boppers!"

"Do as you are told!" the Obergrüppenchieftain growled, slamming one of his huge fists on the control panel.

"_Please use caution! This Reclaimer is delicate_," 343 Guilty Spark advised from under another Brute's arm.

"Frigate off, lightbulb-face! I could kick all of your asses while eating a sandwich!" Keyes yelled.

"One more word from you, Oracle, and I'll rip your eye from its socket!" Tartarus warned the machine. "Which is nothing compared to what we'll do to you……" he told Miranda as he lowered his voiced threateningly.

"Tartarus, stop," the Arbiter said emotionlessly as he approached from the rear. The Brute leader's head shot up in surprise.

"No……impossible."

"Put down the Icon."

"Put it down? You, a filthy son-of-four jaw, are going to tell _me_ what to do?"

"There are things about Halo that even the hierarchs do not understand."

"Ohmigosh! Another _real_ human!" Riley said under his breath upon seeing a disgruntled, struggling Commander Keyes. Her rebuttal was a rather exuberant raspberry.

Tatarus's pack grew restless upon hearing the Arbiter. The Obergrüppenchieftain held them back.

"Take heed, heel, what you say will mark you as an even bigger witch!"

"Will it? Oracle, what is Halo's purpose?" the Elite inquired.

"_And_ the radio?! Okay, this is like, _the _best day ever," the blue-armoured Sangheili concluded.

"_Collectively, the seven_—" before he could even begin to explain, the Brute seised Spark and shook him violently.

"It keeps its mouth shut or it gets the Ordeal again!"

"Please……don't shake the lightbulb," Sergeant Johnson advised coolly, holding up his beam rifle as he munched on his cigar. The pack reacted once more to the new threat. "You wanna keep ya brain inside ya head I'd tell those boys ta chill!"

"Dark human doesn't mess around," Riley nodded.

"Ha! Good onya, blue alien!" Miranda laughed.

Having no other pleasant alternative, Tartarus barked to his group.

"Go 'head, do yo thang," he nodded to the Elite.

"The sacred rings, what are they?"

Its light blinked once. "……_They make the Flood not work_."

"And those who made the rings, what became of them?"

"_Oh, they died. Would you like to see the holos? They are very funny, if I do say so myself. Especially when set to the tune of 'Yakety Sax'._ Everything_ is funnier when that song is playing_."

"Tartarus……the Prophets have betrayed us," the Arbiter growled.

Right fed up with what was going on at that moment, the Obergrüppenchieftain chucked Guilty Spark at Johnson which sent him to the ground. He then kicked a rock, which bounced off of Riley's head. He grabbed Miranda's hand, thrust the Index in it, and jammed it into the corresponding slot in the control panel.

"Hands off, you snake-monkey-dinosaur thing! This isn't a date!" Keyes ordered.

"No, Arbiter! The Flood are the master race! With their guidance, the Jiralhanae shall become the supreme lords of the galaxy! The Jiralhanae, not the Sangheili, shall be the most feared and escort our leaders on the path!" he roared, lifting the Fist of Rukt in a challenge as the Brutes armed themselves.

"_We'll_ be the judge of that!" came a heroic voice from behind. Everyone turned and was greeted by the sight of an army of Sangheili councilors and Zealots, armed to the teeth with either energy blades or plasma rifles.

"Ha! Weren't expecting _that_, were you?!" Riley laughed.

"Where were you guys ten units ago?" Norda demanded.

The Sangheili all made comically frustrated faces in response. They chanted a battle cry and charged at the Brute pack. The others were mowed down easily, but Tartarus leapt to the tiered firing mechanism and roared a challenge to the Sangheili, one they gladly accepted. A ghostly shield surrounded him as he held up his massive gravity hammer. The councilors and Zealots were more than willing to sacrifice themselves in order to liberate their race. Riley wasn't in such a hurry. He hung back, waiting for an opportunity to land a few shots on the Brute leader. Johnson remained by the control panel, beam rifle in his gloved hands.

"Go on, Arbiter! Kick that guy's ass!" he cheered the Elites on.

Riley timidly fired his carbine as the Arbiter pummeled the Brute with grenades from a stolen Brute shot. Zealots rushed in like fools, energy swords crackling. They did nothing against the shield he was carrying. The blue-armoured Sangheili watched sadly as so many of his brothers were blown off of the platform and into the recesses of the control room. One Zealot had a particularly flamboyant exit, releasing a variety of interesting screams as he fell to his death.

"You guys need to do a better job! He's not dead yet," Miranda called out from her spot on a separate platform.

"I don't see _you_ doin' any work, ma'am!" Johnson remarked loudly.

"What?! I've got the most dangerous job! Antagonising him and making him even angrier!"

In the midst of all the slaughter, Riley remembered that he had a song that he wanted to play for Tartarus. Fiddling with his gear, he found the song he was looking for and tried to get his attention.

"Hey, Tartarus!" The Brute looked over at him. "I still have that song I want to play for you!" The German folk song "Humba Tatara" began playing and Riley began singing it, destroying all that is good about the German language. "See?! It sounds kind of like they're saying your name and I thought about you the first time I heard it!" the Sangheili took a break from his word-fudging to announce loudly.

"Damn! Make it stop! I can't stand it!" the Jiralhanae bellowed, clamping his hands over his ears, causing him to drop his gravity hammer. The stream of music also caused his shield system to overload and drop. With one powerful blow, the Arbiter and a councilor lowered their shoulders and rushed the Brute, sending him careening over the edge of the platform. He fell into the famous Forerunner bottomless pit, throaty screams echoing through the chamber. The song ended and Riley held up his arms as he sang the last stanza……poorly.

"Thank you, thank you, danke schön, I'm here all night!" he laughed uproariously.

Once Obergrüppenchieftain Tartarus had met his end, Miranda Keyes majestically jumped from her place on a revolving platform while shouting "Oden!" She hurried up to the control panel, where the Index was floating in a light green gravity field.

"Keyes! Get that thing out of there!" Johnson hollered.

"Don't panic, Uncle Tom, I got this. I'll use my mind powers to get it out," she sneered. Placing her hands to her temples, she focused all of her concentration on the Index. Riley, picking himself up from the ground after a rushed jump, hustled to the gravity field, took a flying leap, and smacked the thing from out of the field. It landed to the bottom tier with a clink. Riley tucked and rolled as he landed near it.

"Hey! It worked!" Commander Keyes said triumphantly.

"You know, that was something I'd expect from your guy," the Sergeant said, looking to the Arbiter.

"He's not _my _guy," the Elite answered.

A subtle tremor began rocking the control room as everyone looked about themselves frantically. The beam that had been gathering in the first of Halo's three pulse generators continued, despite the removal of the Index. It weakly burst upward, towards the center of the ring. Two others from the remaining generators released as well. The three single beams weren't strong enough to ignite the energy gathering in the center and it dissipated with a noise similar to a fart.

"Hm……cheeky," Commander Keyes said to herself.

Sergeant Johnson joined Riley, Miranda, and the Arbiter seeing as 343 Guilty Spark was kind enough to give him a ride.

"_I can't see anything_," it complained.

"We're almost there," the Sergeant grunted. It gently deposited him on the ground next to the Commander.

"_If you tell anyone about this, I _will _find you_," the machine threatened the human.

"Whatever," Johnson said, dusting off his armour.

"Please, no need to thank me, just doin' my part for the team," Keyes said with a sly smile, folding her arms over her chest victoriously.

Johnson gave her an unimpressed look.

"Yo lightbulb-face, what's this madness?" she asked, gesturing to an intricate but beautifully assembled hologram hovering over the control panel.

"_A beacon, duh_," it answered.

"What's it doing?"

"……_Beaconing_."

"Mm, I love beacon," Riley chuckled.

"Not 'bacon', you geek," Miranda silence him. "Who's it beaconing with?"

"_The other installations, double duh_."

"Show me."

"……You just got 'double duh'd'," Riley chuckled maniacally at her misfortune for having insulted him.

"_Failsafe protocol, in the event of unexpected shutdown, the entire system will_—"

Commander Keyes started fake snoring. "Get to the point!"

"……_The other installations are now ready for remote activation. Sheesh, I'm just trying to_ _help_."

"Remote activation, from here?"

"_No, are you daft_?"

"Listen, Tinkerbell, don't make me—"

"—I'll handle all of the small mechanical threats, Johnson," Keyes advised, placing a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Where would someone go to activate the rings, then, Tinkerbell?"

"……_Why, the Ark_," it said, looking thoughtful.

"Aw man! Did you say we have to go to _the Ark_? Because if you did, I'm going to cry _everywhere_," Riley whined.

"You don't even know what that _is_," "Scone" sneered.

"I say we find it," the Arbiter chimed in.

"I say we ready the longboats and set sail!" Miranda added, punching a fist into her other hand.

"I say we bury the word 'nigger' once and for all," Johnson said, tapping ash from his cigar.

"_I_ say we form a boy band!" Riley laughed in his jovial, annoying staccato machine gun laughter.

"_I_ say we kill the blue one and use him for rations," the Commander suggested.

Ensign Colin Sanborn sat ready at his desk. Having completely humiliated himself while falling for a prank call to Cairo Station the other day, he wasn't about ready to let anything else go awry. He sat glaring at the communications panel, sizing it up.

"I'm _not _gonna mess up again, I'm _not _gonna mess up," he chanted to himself. The Station shook violently as a raging Covenant attack continued just outside the titanium walls of the Cairo.

"Anything yet, young Sanborn?" Lord Hood called out from across the room.

"Nothing yet, sir, I'll keep looking," he replied. No sooner had he said that, the panel blinked indicating an incoming transmission.

"This is Cairo Station, over," Sanborn said cautiously.

"_This is Spartan-117, can anyone read me?_" came a rasping voice from the other end.

"Oh, you think you're so smart, do you? I am _not_ falling for this again! Nobody wants to talk to you, nobody, so you can just take your dirty jokes and shove—"

"—_It's the Master Chief, asshole_," he said sternly.

"Oh……I-I beg your pardon sir, I thought—"

"—_Patch me through to Lord Hood_."

"Y-Yessir," Sanborn replied, once more highly embarrassed.

"Master Chief? Is that you? It can't be!" Hood said, gathering his velvet cape up. "Would you mind telling me what you're doing aboard that ship?"

"Sir……ending this quarrel," he replied.

The super soldier signed off, leaving Sanborn and Lord Hood exchanging glances. The communications panel blinked once more and Sanborn hurried to answer it.

"This is Cairo Station, come in."

"_Uh yeah. Um_……_could you relay a message to a Commander Hugh Jass_?" the voice said.

"Yessir, one moment," the Ensign said. "'SCUSE ME! COMMANDER HUGH JASS, YOU HAVE A MESSAGE!"

There was a familiar air about the bridge as it once more broke out into uncontrollable hilarity.

"San-_born_!" Hood yelled.

"Lord Hood, sir!" two high-ranking naval officers said, coming to attention in from of him, seemingly out of breath. They carried a burlap sack between them.

"What is it, men? I've got a situation here," he said, indicating the laughing crew and the bombardments from the Covenant fleet.

"Sir! We found something we think you should see," one of the officers said. They dumped out the contents of the sack, which happened to be a massive pile of tiny, empty "Quarter-n-Quarter" coffee creamers.

"……What's the meaning of this?!" Hood demanded.

"Sir, we found them in Commander Keyes's quarters. We think it's the source behind her insanity."

"……Dear god……" Lord Hood gasped.


End file.
